Perfect After All: The Jade Dragon
by Jaya Mitai
Summary: Animeverse MOSTLY. Spoilers through CoS. A brutal murder sets into motion events that may lead to the end of Amestris herself, and a youthful indiscretion leaves Alphonse with an impossible choice.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer – Don't own Full Metal Alchemist. Making no money. Please don't sue. See Author's Notes at the end of the chapter. Original anime-based MOSTLY, spoilers through Conqueror of Shamballa.

This is the fourth and post-final story in this one-shot trilogy, and if that statement doesn't make sense to you, you need to pick up the original never-ending one-shot **Perfect After All** , and its sequels **Perfect After All: The Fusing Alchemist** and **Perfect After All: Price of the Past**. Trust me. The gang's been through a lot, and this story cannot stand alone.

-x-

 **Krozeburg, North Amestris, Present Day**

 _THWAAAAAAAANNNNG!_

She stared at the violently vibrating thing a moment. Walnut handle, long tapered blade, terminating at least an inch into the doorframe, on the inside wooden panel.

Unless you were standing inside the office, you'd never see the mark.

She closed her eyes and tried very hard not to swear. "What if I had been Colonel Kirkpatrick?

There was a very undignified, rapid, and high-pitched male giggle.

"We'd have smelled him coming a mile away, Kaylie. It's bourbon o'clock."

"Seven past bourbon o'clock," came a deep, resonant voice to her left, and Second Lieutenant Kaylie Berton marched into the office, completely ignoring the letter opener, which was still oscillating gently in the doorframe. The door closed behind her, perhaps a bit smartly, and she didn't so much as look at any of them, heading straight to her desk. The major was leaning comfortably on the west wall, at least twenty feet from the door and that made the throw truly excellent, he'd be bragging about that one all night –

Not that she was going out with them. Not tonight.

Her officemates were right; it was past bourbon o'clock, and the odds of seeing the colonel again that afternoon were slight to none. And they knew it; Jordan's feet were propped up on his desk, and likely a gun magazine was balanced on his legs, Vincent was still giggling like a little girl, and Lucien seemed committed to holding up the wall. Anissa was stationed at her desk, actually writing, but she could have been working on any one of the three events she was running during her off hours. It was Thursday, their reports for tomorrow had been written and approved that morning.

Not much to do but wait for the big hand to hit the six. 1730 couldn't come fast enough.

"Come now, surely that was worth a smile."

She set the folder – with all the required signatures, _finally_ – in the bin marked Primary, and then folded her hands primly on the desk, fixing Major Lucien Fischer with a disapproving look. "Am I smiling?"

He certainly was. "No. You're constipated. You were gone so long I figured you had taken care of that little issue-"

She eyed the pen in front of her, wondering if it had sufficient weight to make it across the room.

"Your sister you are not," Lucien continued, obviously following her gaze, which set Vincent off again. "Tell me, will Emeline stay through the winter break?"

That was a million cenz question if ever she heard one. "No idea." And another cut on top of all the others she'd suffered recently. Mom and Da still weren't back from Aunt Lina's, which mean nothing good. If LIna wasn't able to take care of herself, then there was no reason Emeline _wouldn't_ end up staying in Dantoga with her. At least until after the holidays and classes resumed.

Hell, they might all end up spending the holiday with Aunt Lina. Except her, of course, because the Amestris military didn't shut down for a month due to the solstice. And their base would be no exception, since they were the closest support to Briggs. She had no hope of getting any kind of extended leave this close to the holidays.

Awesome.

"I see I have done the opposite of make you smile," Lucien observed regretfully. "My apologies."

"I've told you," Anissa Lee sniffed, absently freeing a strand of hair caught in her sergeant's bars. "She's going to sulk until she's done. It's like grieving. Leave her be."

Oh yes. A headache was definitely on the night's agenda. Kaylie placed a fingertip on the bridge of her nose, just between her eyes, and willed it away. "Thank you, sergeant. In fact, thank you all. You've been so helpful."

"Aww, come on." Though Vincent Allen had the world's most offensive giggle, his speaking voice was surprisingly low. "I know you had your heart set on it, but you realize if you'd gotten that transfer, you'd be out the door. Then who would Loon torture? Me?"

"From your lips to the ears of the gods."

"You don't believe in gods."

Every head swiveled towards Jordan, who responded to the attention by unhurriedly turning a page.

"Aaand that is the first and last we're going to hear on the matter. Good talk, Coop." Vincent shook his head at their more conservative sergeant, then refocused on her. "Seriously. We know you're bummed, but is it really so bad?"

He did kind of – maybe – okay probably – have a point. A small one. That she didn't really give a shit about. It wasn't so much about running from as running toward, and none of them – not even Nissa – were the kind of people she could explain that to. She shook her head, forcing her forehead to relax, then her eyebrows, then her eyelids, then her cheekbones, and by then the tension drained down her neck to her collarbone.

It was the only way to get rid of the frown she was pretty sure had been permanently molded into her jawbones.

"I guess I kind of would miss you guys," she relented. "You know, like an annoying cat that pisses on your pillow every other night, but then it dies, and your pillow never smells like piss anymore, and you notice that you're not washing your pillow three times a week like you were and-"

"Aaaaand we're done here too. Nice talking to you, K." First Lieutenant Allen looked at the clock above their office door and moaned. "It's going to be a long afternoon."

"I want to hear more about the cat. Is this a cat in your life right now?"

Kaylie let her head fall to her desk, and brought her arms up around it. It did almost nothing to muffle their voices.

"Pretty sure the cat transferred to Central."

"Wait, is this like an allegorical cat? Because if you have a boyfriend who pees on the pillow every other night-"

"No, he's gone now. Weren't you listening?"

"Okay, I've had it," she growled into her arm. "I'm getting my rifle. Start running. I want you all to die tired."

Something slapped onto the desk beside her, and Kaylie cracked an eye open to see that a munitions magazine had magically appeared, sporting a custom FN 1910 with a lovely stainless steel finish on the cover. Within her line of sight, Jordan Cooper gave her a silent nod, and pulled the next magazine off his stack, casually licking his thumb and turning to the first page.

-x-

 **Central City, Amestris**

"Well, that could have gone better."

Ed rolled his eyes - and his smarting shoulder - as his brother grinned down at him.

"Should we try it without the pointy end next time?"

"Keep talking. You have to sleep sometime," he snapped, accepting the hand that was offered and levering himself up. The announcements had gone flying, and he reclaimed his slightly crumpled notes as Alphonse stuck a toe under the shaft of what looked for all the world like a standard military issue lance. This one differed from the ones used in medieval Europe, however, in that the pointy end was very, very dull.

Which was very, very good considering he'd blocked the damn thing with his right arm.

His naked right arm.

 _Again._

Al flipped the weapon expertly up into his hand, and Edward continued to glower, easing the ache out of his right shoulder. This had been going on for weeks now, and his responses were not improving. If he thought about it, if he was ready, he was able to dodge Al's attacks every time without relying on automail - or armor - he no longer had. The problem was that most attackers probably weren't going to politely introduce themselves first. Which meant his reflexes needed to be retrained from nearly two decades of muscle memory.

Or really, lack thereof.

At least Al was enjoying himself, Ed noted darkly, as his brother calmly cast around for a trash can. There was almost no wood in the structure of the Amestris Academy of the Sciences – it was made almost entirely of stone, save the doors and window frames. That wouldn't normally be the case, but multiple generations of Armstrongs had been involved with the building's construction. Classes were currently in session, and adding the spear back to the nearest door was bound to cause a disruption. Al would have no choice but to decompose it, and since he couldn't incorporate wood into stone, it was going to end up a sad little pile of damp sand. He must have made it outside an hour ago, then spent his entire planning period literally waiting for his brother to happen to walk down the hallway -

Alphonse had been nothing less than ecstatic when the Tringums – and Dr. Dalyell, the board certified sadist – had finally cleared him for sparring. Russell had been spot-on with his initial estimate; it had taken months before Ed had finally felt like a human again, and it was still months after that before anyone actually believed him. He'd give his brother credit, Al hadn't pulled his punches even in their first match, and it became increasingly clear to them both that without the automail – or the armor – Ed's normal defensive and offensive forms needed an overhaul.

And that overhaul, in his brother's professional opinion, meant a true test of his reflexes. They had now entered week three of The Ambush Protocol. There was literally no place he was safe, no situation off limits. Cooking dinner? Don't lose an eye! Taking a shower? Prepare for decapitation! At least his disgracefully exuberant little brother had had the decency to get him in the halls _before_ the 1 pm classes let out.

If the student body got wind that their headmaster needed some practice handling surprise attacks -

Al was still grinning even as his eyes slid past Ed, and he gestured with his chin. "I see your two o'clock is here."

He still had the spear.

Edward gave him a flat look. "That's the best you've got?" As if 'look behind you!' was really going to distract him-

"Seriously."

Ed fished his pocketwatch out of his trousers without taking his eyes off Al, flicking up the decorative lid before glancing – just a quick glance. It was ten til. Al's foot shifted, just slightly, and Ed tensed despite himself.

"Nii-san, this isn't going to work if you expect it -"

". . . am I interrupting?"

The voice had him turning before he'd even thought about it, and there, not ten feet behind him, was a young man with curly red hair and a rather round nose. If he was surprised to see two of his professors sparring - with a spear, no less - in the middle of the main Academy hallway, he didn't show it, and behind Ed there was the faintest whisper of leather on limestone.

This time Ed decided to follow his head, and he twisted his body towards Franklin, rather than towards the threat. He'd been right; Al had gone for a thrust, exactly what he would have knocked aside with his automail without a thought – back when he had it. Now the thrust passed behind his back, and Ed whipped around, grabbing the shaft – not the blade, this time – with his right hand before continuing to turn, yanking Al off balance.

Alphonse obligingly gave ground, taking a few steps closer to keep hold of the spear, and the two wrestled with it briefly before Ed just shoved it away and went straight for close combat. Al had anticipated, leveraging Ed's shove to help wedge the blade into the joint of the hallway floor and wall, and used the now braced shaft as a barricade. He parried Ed's swipe at his head, pressing the shaft out straight in front of him and gently bonking Ed in the face.

"Tag."

There was a clap, and then the spear was sand. Mess be damned.

"That's cheating."

"We all know that's what I'd do anyway." It really was just his immediate reactions – his reflexes – that were getting him into trouble. Particularly with bladed weapons, though his left knee was still black and blue from catching one of Al's axe kicks the previous weekend.

"Yeah, I know." Al dusted off his hands, then grinned at Franklin, inviting him into the conversation. "I'm still trying to figure out a way to test him with bullets. Any thoughts?"

The teen's eyes flickered between the two, coolly, as he approached. "A few."

It wasn't much, but it was progress. Any references to the West Conflict were usually met with awkward silence and brooding. That Al could joke with Franklin Sorn about bullets and actually get a response instead of a flinch spoke very highly of Al and the effort he'd expended these past seven months.

And true to form, Al took the reply in stride, as though it was nothing extraordinary. "I figured you might. Something fast enough and small enough but not hard enough to damage him too much. How rapidly do you think you could get a machine to cycle something like that at him?"

Ed's subordinate approached, and his eyes fell briefly towards Al's knees as he thought. "Not to the speed of automatic fire, if that's what you're thinking."

It probably was, and Al shrugged, using a foot to scatter the little sand pile towards the wall. "It's a start."

Any machine that could lob non-lethal bullets at the speed of an automatic machine gun would be potentially dangerous in the extreme. Ed mentally catalogued the uses. Riot or crowd control, though you'd probably accidentally kill some people, a non-lethal cover for a forward advance if you were afraid of shooting your own soldiers in the back . . . were there any uses for bullets that didn't end up militarized?

Construction, he supposed. You could modify it to shoot nails, maybe, or something to knock icicles off the Academy gutters in the winter so the alchemists would stop almost impaling the physicists and chemists –

"How about I get up to speed with blades before we graduate me to guns," he grumbled, carefully folding his wrinkled announcements as he watched Al's efforts to tidy up the mess they'd made. Now that Al had his back turned, the thin roll of papers protruding from his back pocket was obvious. "You have another class this afternoon?"

His brother nodded, apparently satisfied with the present he'd left for the janitorial staff. "Yeah, I'm covering for Hicks. Compressed Gases."

Explosions. Fun.

"Great. You can take these by the office on your way." Ed extended the now-folded page of announcements between two fingers, and Al shook his head with a half smile as he snagged them.

"I wouldn't want to deny you extra time with a certain someone," Ed continued innocently. If Al had just ratted him out to Sorn, the least he could do was repay the favor.

A strange expression flashed briefly across Al's face, but it almost instantly curved up in a grin. "Really, nii-san?"

Yep. Really.

Despite having delegated – and hadn't Al been on him about that too? – his errand to his brother, Ed headed with him back towards the main office, and after a moment Sorn trailed behind them. Once they were shoulder to shoulder, Ed was unsurprised to see his brother watching him out of the corner of his eye. He hadn't missed it.

Al didn't miss much.

"You know," Al continued conversationally, "I was thinking of adding a new elective after the holiday break. Basic Alchemic Properties will be wrapped up at the end of this semester and all the students are passing, so there's no need to hold the 3 pm slot for remedial lab."

"Always the optimist," Ed murmured. "And what new class are you proposing, Professor Elric?"

"Well, Professor Elric, I was considering an alchemic combat course."

Edward kept his expression tightly controlled. Al was usually a little more subtle than that.

"PE?" He scoffed. "We're not running an elementary school." No matter how often it felt that way. "The alchemists have already been through boot camp."

"They're the ones requesting it," his brother countered, in a very reasonable tone of voice. "Now that the Academy is mandatory for the State Alchemists, at least until they graduate, they're spending a lot of time in class - "

" - that they would have spent in the library regardless-"

"- and Fletcher said he's getting fat."

Ed snorted. "Are you being serious here?"

Al finally turned to really look at him, his expression beaming sincerity. "I am. And not just for the alchemists. We finally have all the sciences under one roof. What if they see a way to neutralize a certain type of alchemy that we'd never think of?"

Ed stopped dead in his tracks. Maybe they weren't on the same wavelength after all. "You want . . . to create anti-alchemist weapons . . .?" Talk about escalating the alchemist/physicist pranks to a whole new level –

"Those have already been invented, nii-san," Al observed drily. "They're called guns."

Point. Not that they'd been too terribly effective against Craege Irving –

"I'm simply saying, it would be a good opportunity to enable our own soldiers to safely confront enemy alchemists, and it would also give us training on the off chance any of our enemies are thinking along the same lines."

Ed turned that idea over in his mind as Al watched him expectantly. That couldn't have been his brother's off the cuff response to seeing what they'd seen, Al had clearly been thinking about this for more than the last few minutes. Creta was still sulking from their defeat, which had left an overwhelming majority of their army untouched, and he'd eat his left shoe if they weren't actively recruiting alchemists to their ranks. Their western neighbor hadn't pounced just because Amestris was momentarily distracted by its own governmental evolution. They'd been thinking about it for _years_ before Blane and Franklin had come along.

If they empowered the Amestrian military to combat certain types of alchemy, conceivably fewer alchemists would need to be deployed to the front lines. And they could develop defenses against those weapons that could remain internal to Amestris.

Because military secrets _never_ got exposed –

But then again, the whole damn point of the Academy was to give them a chance to get ahead of the inevitable industrial revolution and temper the damage. Al was right; after the spanking they gave Creta, and their obvious continued interest in alchemy as a science, it would be foolish to believe that their neighbors were not eyeing every possible method of thwarting Amestris' National Alchemists.

"Let's discuss it later," he finally allowed. Al probably had his reasons for bringing it up around Franklin, too, and now that he thought about it, maybe that was indeed the more subtle way to offer his services to the skinny little parolee standing silently a few feet behind them.

The skinny little parolee who had obviously been on the receiving end of some anti-alchemist sentiment, if not weapons.

They started walking again, and Al waved the folded announcements at him. "Exam schedule?"

"Among other things." When marks would be due from the faculty, how they'd be communicated, the year-end banquet –

His brother grinned. "Such hard work, being the headmaster."

"When I'm not being jumped by my own faculty in my own damn hallway –"

"Professor, I have no idea what you mean."

Al soon peeled off to the left, heading into the main office, and Ed got a glimpse of several enlisted, in bright Amestrian blue, standing at the counter. He kept walking, quickly flipping through his mental index of outstanding reports. Was there something he was supposed to have submitted? Financials, maybe?

Dueys seemed to be handling it with her usual aplomb, and Mira Bansk was at her side with an armload of folders, so Ed left them to it, gesturing for Sorn to take the place his brother had vacated.

The Amestris Academy of the Sciences was well into its second year of operation, and he and Al had done a relatively good job of keeping it operating efficiently and, for the most part, legally. Much of that success had to do with the employees they'd selected, and while he gave them both some grief, the front office staff deserved most of the credit for the Academy's smooth operation. It was still two minutes before dismissal, and already, up ahead Ed could see that the lecture hall doors bore one of Paise Duey's bright pink messages, probably explaining that Compressed Gases was still on despite Hicks' absence and would be taught by a stand-in.

Al picking up another professor's class wasn't out of the ordinary, but the fact it wasn't an alchemist's was. He and Al had made a concerted effort before the start of the second year to attract some decent talent that wasn't alchemical in nature. Dr. John Hicks was a very well-respected physicist, and also one of the few civilian physicists in Central. It had been tough to pry him away from the State University, but well worth the trouble and cost, as it had helped Ed avoid what promised to be an awkward conversation with General Hakuro on why the Academy had an open position but strangely refused to consider any of the physicists that had worked on the uranium bomb.

Not that Ed was sure Hicks wasn't _also_ interested in that line of research, given his other explosive interests. He made a mental note to ask Dueys if the good doctor had planned vacation or had had to skip his class for some other reason.

Ugh. Almost two years in an administrative role had made this kind of crap almost second nature.

And speaking of administrative crap . . .

His little red-haired headache had finally decided to walk beside him, and when they reached his office Ed continued right past it. Franklin slowed, clearly confused, and Ed waved him on again. "Let's get some air," he suggested quietly.

In less than sixty seconds the hallway was going to be swarming with students transferring to their two o'clock, and he didn't want to be caught in his office if those enlisted actually _were_ looking for him.

They made it out the doors just in time for the bell, and Ed rolled his sleeves back down as the chill fall air finally hit. One of the downsides of their building, besides the fact that it didn't contain wood, was that it didn't contain wood. It was solid stone. It held its temperature for a little while, since limestone was a bit more porous than, say, granite, but certainly not as well as he would have liked, or as well as the more common wood and insulation structure would have. Last year they'd paid for that oversight with extravagant heating fuel costs.

This year they'd made a few modifications, and he was glad to feel the results on his prickling skin.

He led them around to the west, onto the large academy lawn. There were a few students dotting the green here and there, but they were easily avoidable, and the two o'clock sun was still high enough overhead to provide a little warmth.

Which Sorn looked like he could use. Despite the change in venue, there wasn't a single spark of curiosity in his green eyes. Thankfully they were at least back to actual green; his face had started to fill back out once he'd started eating again. Not that Edward thought his guardians were coaxing him to eat as much as forcing. Dolph and Madelyn Price were doing what they could for his body, that was certain.

His mind was another issue entirely.

The boy obediently followed him, and Ed decided to keep them moving towards the magnificent old sycamore tree that dominated the back lawn. It was easily a century old and at least 110 feet tall, and it had burst into deep golds that faded to a bright orange the higher up they went.

"Let's stick with a verbal report today." It was the off week, meaning he didn't need to submit Franklin's report to Mustang's office until next Thursday. It also generally meant he'd get even less detail out of his subordinate than usual.

"Where would you like me to start."

Ed watched the teen out of the corner of his eye. "How about with what you're actually working on."

Nothing, not so much as a sigh. "I'm still testing alloys."

For his springs, right. "Did you speak with Fletcher like I suggested?" He already knew the answer.

"Not yet."

"You're waiting for . . .?"

"Exams to finish." It was a very logical, reasonable answer. After all, Fletcher had taken on teaching a few tutoring sessions last semester, and a few labs as well, and he had to not only study for his own upcoming exams, but write the first years'.

It was also bullshit, which Ed knew very well.

"I see."

Ed let the silence thicken as they strolled towards the carpet of yellow. Seven months they'd been doing this. Every Thursday, at 2 o'clock, Franklin Sorn reported to his parole officer for a mandatory update on his status with his projects. His parole officer then determined if any of Sorn's projects were a threat to Amestris, and bimonthly filed Sorn's written report with the offices of the Prime Minister.

And every week, for seven months, Ed heard about Franklin's projects. He'd charged the teen with "using alchemy for what it's for." And alchemy was for the people. It had been as good a place as any to start with the Mechanical Alchemist, since it was the type of work he had done in his hometown of Jannai, and was unlikely to get him into any serious trouble.

They hadn't made much progress until the main line out east, that went through New Optain and Youswell, had been damaged by an earthquake. They were fairly common in the eastern parts of the country, where the rolling, rocky hills quite suddenly terminated in nearly flat desert. And trains were something that were right up the Mechanical Alchemist's alley. And so he had produced a machine for laying railroad track and ties to build a new line east. Then a new furnace and manufacturing line, to produce the track. Then a machine to improve logging efficiency for the ties. Once he'd exhausted the new train line itself, he'd moved on to a machine to braid more efficient and durable telephone wires, to support the teams building the east line. That hadn't taken long, so they'd moved on to cranes that could be shipped in a single traincar to sites and assembled in less than an hour with nothing more than hand tools, capable of moving objects up to a ton.

Hence the springs. Franklin was looking for an alloy that would allow him to increase the thickness of the crane structure – thus enabling it to move more than a ton – while still being easy enough for a four man team to assemble.

It was a task that should have taken him days, not weeks. Even without Fletcher's help, though admittedly his relationship with Winry was teaching the younger Tringum quite a bit about metallurgy.

Edward very carefully inspected that thought for jealousy and was reasonably certain his search came up empty.

"What do you want me to say?"

The truth. What he was really working on. What was getting him out of bed in the mornings. His grades at the Academy had always been top of the class and even with the sessions he missed during the West Conflict and his subsequent trial, his marks hadn't significantly slipped. Ed saw him in classes, of course, though now he'd chosen a seat near the back, as far to one side of the hall – the side with the door – as possible to facilitate arriving just in the nick of time and being the first one out. He wasn't sure how Sorn was able to move about the Academy without apparently using the halls, since he'd never caught the young alchemist there even in passing until today.

He knew what was going on. He knew why Sorn was making himself scarce, and why he was hiding injuries – poorly – from him and Al. His collar was turned up on one side but not the other. And being red-headed came with fair skin that reacted if you so much as touched it, so the collar wasn't enough to hide that something had inflamed the skin of his neck. Franklin had to know that until he stopped behaving like a kicked puppy, the other students at the Academy were going to keep kicking him. As long as he acted like he was guilty, they were going to continue to be reminded that he was. While most of the Academy only knew what had been published after the trials ended, they knew that he'd been there when their headmaster had been facing a firing squad. He'd been there and done nothing.

Of course, only three other alchemists in the Academy, and only four in the world, knew that Franklin actually _could_ have done something. Outside of a few conversations Al had dragged the boy into, Ed didn't think Franklin had so much as considered transmuting without an array, let alone using his foot or another alchemist, since his time in Mustang's secret dungeon. His ring of wooden planks, with his most common arrays burned into each, hung around his belt as it always had. And Ed wasn't even really sure that Franklin was using _those_. All his recent inventions hadn't needed alchemy to design.

Maybe there was something to be said for Al's suggestion. That Sorn learn some self-defense. His brother had been a little more subtle about it earlier, but subtle was not Ed's style. He'd already threatened those lessons, if Franklin should fuck up, but to his credit, he showed up at 2 o'clock every Thursday on time. Even early, today.

Which was a little out of the ordinary, come to think of it . . . The bastard would have made some kind of heavy handed proclamation, like to whom do I owe the honor of your early presence, or I see you're moving quickly today, with such short strides, too, or –

"I'd like to know what you're actually working on," he said instead, in answer to the boy's earlier question. "It's not springs. I'm bored just thinking about it."

Sorn took a preparatory breath – a resigned one - and Ed made an impatient sound, cutting him off. All a breath like that would do is offer up more garbage.

"You're not fooling anyone with this, Franklin. Not me, not Mustang, not Hakuro." Which was kinda sad, since Hakuro was relatively easy to fool, at least in the alchemy department. "No one learns geography, astronomy, and complex biology almost overnight and then spends weeks working on a spring."

He'd done the math, while he'd been laid up in the hospital recovering. Sorn had learned how to transmute whole, perfect chimera in the span of weeks. Even with Tucker's notes and a pile of Incomplete Stone, that was insane. Franklin wasn't the one who'd gotten shot in the head, his brain was perfectly fine. There was no way that brain wasn't constantly at work on something.

Not that Hakuro or the prime pain in his ass had actually said anything about Sorn's reports.

Not that he'd given them an opportunity to ask. Or been available for either one of them to speak with, about Sorn or anything else. It was kind of nice, with the war over he didn't actually run into Mustang or Hakuro really at all. Another reason to continue dodging enlisted showing up on the Academy's doorstep, whether they were after him or not.

"I've been studying for finals-"

"You already know the material." In some cases, maybe better than his professors.

Franklin paused, and Ed took another two steps before he decided that the kid wasn't going to follow him anymore, so he turned. For once he had Franklin's eyes, though there was very little in them. "I told you before. I don't want to do this."

It was the same thing he'd said at his parole hearing, when he'd been assigned to Edward. What had Mustang said? He didn't care?

The corner of Ed's lips turned up at the memory. That was basically the same thing the bastard had said to him, when he'd had his own crisis of faith, not much younger than Sorn was now. It had meant something to him, back then. It had meant something because Mustang was someone he had respected, and when he was being totally honest, had feared. Just a little bit.

It was weird to think that was probably also how Sorn felt. That he himself was only a little younger than Mustang had been when a slightly younger version of himself had probably stood before him with the same look, the same feelings.

Only not really. There wasn't any fire left in Sorn. He'd had his dejected points, sure, but he wasn't sure he'd ever been this low.

He'd had Al.

And maybe he should leave this to Al. If they were getting along, maybe Al could make that inroad that Edward himself couldn't seem to. "And I told you before. If you keep things from me, or lie to me . . ."

He left it hanging, but he knew Sorn remembered. Or they'd work on his combat skills. The threat of a beat-down had always encouraged him and Al to stay on their sensei's good side, after all.

But he couldn't look to Izumi too hard here, either, because Sorn was much older than he and Al had been. Franklin was for all intents and purposes almost grown. And it didn't seem like beat-downs were much of a threat, since they were apparently happening anyway.

"I'm studying vocations." Without inflection. "I've been trying to decide what I'd like to do when – my probation is over."

Just the tiniest catch. Ed let it go, considering this new information.

Trying to think of a new career would be something his brain was probably doing. The problem was that it was probably also doing thirty other things at the same time. "Have you narrowed down your field yet?"

He lost Sorn's eyes as a gust of wind rushed through the branches overhead, bringing with it the softest sound of falling leaves, and the boy studied them a long moment, as if seeking a pattern. "I think I'd like to own a restaurant."

Huh.

Ed couldn't stop himself. "No one trusts a skinny cook."

The boy didn't even flinch. "Cooking isn't so much a science as a combination of science and art. I could make new tools, the railroad will bring new ingredients from the east . . ." Oddly, he continued staring up at the tree, and Edward followed his gaze, eventually locating a fat brown squirrel, staring down at them both contemptuously.

Of _course_ Phillip was eavesdropping.

He'd probably also be in whole-hearted support. They did say alchemy began in the kitchen . . . and Madelyn and Dolph could certainly help Franklin set up a business. They were only bakers, it was true, but the basics of finance, acquiring ingredients, storage, all of that would be transferrable. And he was right, he was singularly suited to making kitchen appliances.

As a bonus, the cook didn't usually have to deal directly with the customers, so he could hide in the back with his staff and live a quiet life.

On the flip side, cooking was very much _not_ as scientific as the logical, pragmatic Mechanical Alchemist usually preferred. Sure, you could get making a grilled cheese sandwich down to a science, exactly how hot to make the griddle, exactly how long to toast each side assuming the same thickness and consistency of bread and cheese every time, but you couldn't have a successful restaurant that served only grilled cheese. Real cooking, there was something that truly did take mastery, and while he was a hell of a lot better at it now than he had been as a child, Edward could easily see making an entire life out of learning to cook properly.

Maybe the kid really was on to something. Not that he could even pretend to believe Sorn would actually tell him something like that.

"That was a fairly decent lie. I think Hakuro might even buy that one."

Finally, he got a snort, and Franklin dropped his eyes back to somewhere around Ed's chest. "You asked."

"I asked for the truth."

"Technically I was only ordered to tell you what I was working on. Not everything I'm thinking."

Ed barked a laugh, and received a warning chitter from above. "Technically I was ordered to determine if you were a threat to Amestris, not just to read your reports."

The boy shook his head, glancing back at the Academy to avoid having to look at him. "And you really think I'm a threat?"

Roy would remain silent. Izumi would have answered bluntly, and softened it with her expectations. Neither response felt quite right. "I think you're a genius. Genius is always a threat."

He knew Franklin could turn that around on him, and Al. And the truth was, Hakuro didn't like him or Al for the same reason he didn't like Sorn. He didn't trust them. The general had never come right out and said it, but their abilities – and their tendency to ignore authority – meant they were difficult if not impossible to control. And the amount of damage he could do, he _had_ done, Al had done –

Franklin had done.

"I think that you're hiding things from me because you don't trust me." Which, quite frankly, he didn't deserve. He had been more forthcoming with Sorn than Mustang had _ever_ been with them. "And I know what you're capable of," he reminded the boy quietly. "That's what I'm thinking."

He wasn't expecting reciprocity and he didn't get it. Phillip, however, was apparently quite offended by the silence, as he landed heavily on a lower branch, showering them with leaves while letting loose with a long series of squawks that Edward was sure would sting if he actually spoke squirrel.

Phillip, so named by the student body, was the unofficial mascot of the Academy, to the point that several of the faculty had even suggested putting him on the background of the Academy seal. He was the most singularly ornery creature Ed had ever encountered. The sycamore spread was welcome shade in the spring and summer, and a popular place for students to study, relax, and eat. When Phillip wasn't long diving into lunch sacks he was literally stationing himself directly above his target, compensating for wind, and nailing his victim with an incredibly accurate stream of urine.

In fact, Philip was such a right bastard that he had even driven all of the nesting birds out of the tree. It was his and his alone. No Mrs. Phillips, no Phillips junior. Just a grumpy fat bachelor, angry at the world.

Sorn glanced back up at the squirrel, finally wearing an expression – exasperation. "You know, I could make a trap. A humane one," he added, almost as an afterthought.

The squirrel continued to rant at them, fleeing to slightly higher branches and still raining down leaves, and Ed shook his head. "He was here first, I guess." He'd certainly been in that tree the entire time Ed could remember.

He might have been pissed off because this tree was probably where Al had taken the wood, come to think of it –

The breeze picked up again, rustling through the leaves and partially drowning out the tree's crabby resident, and Franklin seemed to remember that looking up was exposing the marks on this neck, because he tucked his chin back down rather quickly. "I don't . . . think like I used to. It's more like this." He nodded towards the falling leaves. "Quick bits, in and out, and then they're gone."

Swirling thoughts, that Ed could relate to. Sorn was more than capable of maintaining high marks even if he was having trouble focusing. "Too noisy?"

Sorn was quiet again, for so long Ed didn't think he would answer. Then, ". . . nothing's interesting."

Ed felt his lips quirk. "Listen. No onefinds that spring interesting."

But he could relate to that feeling too. Once it seemed like his dreams, his goals had been out of reach, nothing else even came close. How could it? What Franklin had pursued was all-consuming. Everything he'd ever wanted, and the only way to make the consequences of getting there bearable. It was going to take longer than seven months to get over. He probably never would, not fully.

Not that he needed to hear that.

Phillip let loose with another string of rodent expletives, and Ed felt his eyes rolling.

"All right already, we're leaving." Before he took matters into his paws and starting peeing on them. Ed addressed Sorn a little more quietly. "If you want to pursue the restaurant angle, be my guest. Just make some damn progress on the crane already and then . . whatever makes you happy. A potato peeler. Surprise me."

The teen looked almost relieved, and Ed wondered exactly how much honesty he'd really just gotten. Maybe he'd have to change up the meeting location occasionally, maybe the office reminded Franklin too much of Mustang, or Blane –

There was an indignant squawk, and Ed cast a look over his shoulder as they headed back towards the academy. He could almost feel the squirrel glaring at him, and Ed scanned the branches a little more closely. Golden orange leaves waved at him innocently, shifting in the breeze.

. . . there was no way Al could have gotten out of the office and up into the tree without them seeing him.

Right?

Ed's gaze dropped thoughtfully to the stone and wrought iron fence, about thirty feet beyond the sycamore, that ran the perimeter of the lawn. He could have double-timed it around the fence, snuck over or transmuted a rope ladder –

Clearly the Ambush Protocol was having more of an effect on him than he realized. Ed shook his head, ignoring an ever so slightly inquiring look from the other alchemist. "You know, I may have an idea for you after all."

-x-

"I'm just saying, I think any reasonable person would find that suspicious."

Major Rollo Hurnsted shook his head, catching the front gate and swinging it open with a foot. "You think the worst about people, you know that?"

Cam shifted the parcels on his arm, trying to maneuver the load between the gate posts. "Look, it's getting close to the holidays, the weather's getting colder, you're working more and more 'overtime,' I'm just saying-"

"Nothing. There's no proof of anything. We're great. She's always there when I call, she's not hiding things from me -"

"That just means she's good at it-"

"Why do you always have to do this?" The major slid his foot out from underneath the gate, catching it on his knee before performing a pirouette that would make any dancer jealous and swinging his own load of packages over the garden fence posts rather than between. "I'm finally happy, Cam. I have a nice girl. She likes me. I like her. I might actually have a date for the Officer's Ball who hasn't been blackmailed there by one of my sisters –"

"I keep meaning to tell you, I heard –"

The major finished his graceful spin and headed for the front door, trying to tune the lieutenant out completely. There was another load waiting for them in the car, and it was going to be a long drive back. At least he could look to Mrs. Hakuro for pleasant conversation, even if only for a moment –

And the front door was slightly open. She must have heard them coming.

"- and I'm pretty sure that sounds like your middle sister's MO –"

"That's very interesting, lieutenant," he said, perhaps a bit loudly. "Let's finish this discussion on the way back to base."

For all that Lieutenant Cam Dunlap was a gossip – and a hell of a gossip for an officer – he was also a fairly good listener. The shift in tone from conversational to military had his mouth snapping shut immediately.

"Yessir," he replied smartly, and Rollo trotted up the three wide stairs and right up to the door. The general could arrive home at any time, he was playing hooky from Parliament today, and she must have been watching for his car and seen theirs arrive.

"Good evening, ma'am," the major called, over faint strains of music coming from the warmly lit hallway. "May we come in?"

He'd been working for the general for close to a decade, and he knew better than to simply assume a door ajar was an invitation. They wouldn't set foot in that house until Lucille Hakuro was ready to greet them.

Behind him, he heard the lieutenant shuffle up the stairs, and they waited patiently for their general's commanding officer to finish her current task. Hurnsted knew the entire family had come in a few days ago, and he had understood why the moment he'd seen Clara. She looked fit to burst right then and there, even her brother Luka had been a little wide-eyed.

But knowing the Hakuro family like he did – and there was no doubt that while Clara had taken Liam's last name of Hannes, she was a Hakuro from bangs to toenail – she was going to make them all wait until she was good and ready to be a mother, and if that meant waiting til the solstice, that was what she would do.

The record finished, though he heard no other motion from inside, and the major cocked his head. "Ma'am, we have a delivery for you."

Which was kind of an understatement. The administrative staff had certainly gone all out for the shower. Who knew a baby's things could be so . . . heavy? And for such small packages, too.

He shifted his stance, glancing inquiring into the gap between the door and the jamb, and the faintest whiff of spices came wafting out. It smelled as if cider had boiled over, or perhaps someone had spilled it on the stove – that must be what was keeping her.

"We'll just set these down and get the rest," he called into the house, and soft music started back up.

Rollo glanced over his shoulder at his partner, and the lieutenant shrugged and awkwardly deposited his armload onto the porch. Hurnsted did the same, glancing through the jamb again. It was only open a sliver to keep the warm air in, and the only thing visible was a strip of the hallway runner – a very festive fall one – and the hardwood floors.

The two officers headed back to the car, and thankfully the second load was lighter than the first, though the boxes were much bigger. They proceeded back in the much the same manner as the first time, with Rollo getting the garden gate, and yet by the time they'd retaken the porch, there was still no movement from inside.

Had something happened . . . ? Had Clara decided not to wait til the solstice after all?

Rollo set the second load down beside the first, glancing at Cam before hopping lightly off the porch, heading around to the side of the manor. The driveway was occupied, three cars and one was definitely a Parliament model.

Rollo kept his tone very conversational, eyeing the side door. It looked closed and secured. "Cam, do you remember if Tobias drove the general this morning?"

His partner had stayed on the porch, in line of sight, and he stared at him a moment, then silently eased the snap off his holster guard.

"Can't say that I recall," he drawled easily, and Cam nodded, drawing his own pistol. The other cars were civilian, probably Liam's and Luka's. If the general's car was here also, it meant there hadn't been an emergency trip to the hospital, and there was no fourth car, so no midwife.

Something was wrong.

Rollo proceeded quickly around the side, sticking close to the wall and out of sight of the second floor windows. The first floor windows had their curtains drawn, a nod to the chill of the early evening air, and he kept silent count in his head as he moved as quickly as he dared to the rear of the house. The back door was closed, which was quite unusual if Lucille was cooking dinner. She always complained the kitchen got too hot.

He made it to the back door with four seconds to spare, and he peered cautiously through the window above the sink. There was motion on the stove, a pot boiling over, and no sign of anyone tending it.

When his mental countdown reached zero, he tried the back doorhandle, unsurprised to find it unlocked, and he yanked it open, scanning the room.

It was empty. From further into the house he could still hear the record playing, even over the hissing of the cider. In the kitchen, the scorched cinnamon smell was much stronger. The pantry door was closed, and he edged into the kitchen, covering it as he pushed it open.

The door gave easily, but stopped about halfway when it caught on something, and a light kick resulted in the sound of a can being knocked over. Nothing seemed out of place.

He continued quickly into the adjoining dining room. The table was set for tea, there were crumbs on plates and the chairs were askew, so they'd been here a few hours ago. No damage, though; not so much as an errant teacup.

With the door to the kitchen closed, the burnt spice aroma was reduced, and finally, he smelled it. But he still didn't believe it, not even when he followed his nose through the servant's hallway to the informal sitting room. Cam had already found his way there, and he wasn't making a sound. Wasn't so much as breathing, and there in the room with them, the smell was so much stronger.

His eyes took count, and his feet carried his body out of the room, back down the servant's hallway to the phone perched there on a delicate lace serviette. His left hand unerringly dialed, though his brain couldn't think of the digits. Someone answered, said words.

His voice was perfectly steady. "Execute Cardinal procedure beta."

Alpha was reserved for the general. And he didn't even need to finish clearing the house to know that General Hakuro was not there.

-x-

 **Author's Notes** : Well, here we are. A place I said I'd never go. Quite literally, I woke up one morning from a really effed up dream and plotted this. And then sat down and wrote the first chapter in one go. My real writing has been stuck since January, so if beating on the Elrics will bring my muse back, who am I to argue? There aren't any plotholes to fill here. I guess this one is kind of fanservice, except people die, so I guess it's crappy fanservice? If you've got plotholes I didn't cover in the previous PAAs, now's the time to let me know.

A lot's changed. They redid the anime to make it closer to the manga. (I read the manga. It was awesome.) There are some _crazy detailed_ maps of Amestris now available, and I see that some of the PAA geography is effed up. I'm afraid this is going to have to stay its own canon. It's still basically the original anime + CoS, except now I'm adding Xing like I mean it. And the Briggs crew will make a more fleshed out appearance.

I bet you never could have made _those_ predictions . . .

To say this won't get updated rapidly would be an understatement. I don't mean to be a tease. My recommendation is to put it on new chapter alerts, and maybe let a few chapters stack up.

And if any of the original crowd is still out there, I'd love to know. Because this? This is pretty much for all of you. =)


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

The small rectangle of paper slipped unresistingly against his glove, and the Speaker's neat, slanted handwriting almost seemed to be winking up at him.

 _I think we're nearly there._

It was much harder than he'd anticipated, keeping his expression neutral, and the Prime Minister of Amestris read it twice, just to make absolutely certain everyone could see him do so.

To his right, the Speaker uncrossed his ankles with a sigh, shifting impatiently in his chair.

Mustang contemplated his next move for the appropriate amount of time before unobtrusively removing a similar, though blank, rectangle of paper from the collection in front of him, penning his own quick missive before folding it. It was really the folding that was the most hilarious aspect, he decided, because who did they expect to see it when they were literally passing it directly into the other's hand?

 _You've got to stop. I can't keep a straight face._

It had been going on for so long now, he couldn't be certain he actually remembered the first time the Speaker of the House had passed him a note for the sole and exclusive purpose of irritating the person that had been standing before them, and nothing else. There was no other function in their note-passing. They weren't making invasion plans, they weren't even making lunch plans. It was nothing more than simple theater to damage the composure of the person in front of them.

It had been inevitable, then, that one of them eventually started actually writing things on the notes – observations, silly things - just to see if they could get a reaction. He now looked so forward to their written correspondence that he had actually enjoyed the last month or so of the weekly updates Parliament received from the Cretian diplomatic team.

About two weeks into the treatment, the diplomats had begun to retaliate by tapping signals to each other with their pens. In response, the Speaker had had very elegant business card holders installed beside the decorative but functional inkwell and penholder, which contained business card sized rectangles of otherwise blank paper.

Somehow, the flurry of today's note exchanging – possibly coupled with the fact that Mustang was nearly certain the Speaker's 'coughing fit' earlier had been anything but – had had a more visible impact on Gabin than usual. The Cretian's head diplomat, and someone who undoubtedly fancied himself quite clever and effective, looked positively irritated.

Ambassador Lambert's table didn't look much happier. His First Secretary, Aiden Boyer, and their attaché, Ilan Vidal, were staring in solidarity at the two of them. The Speaker read his note, shook his head ever so slightly, and placed it in the pile.

Thankfully, he did not avail himself of another piece of paper. One of them openly laughing in session was enough.

"I see that something else has your attention, Prime Minister," Ambassador Gabin Lambert murmured, attempting to draw the attention of Parliament to their mischiefs. "Is there perhaps a question you have of us?"

Mustang almost smiled. He had a file full of such questions. When are you planning on launching your next attack? How long ago did your government set its sights on Amestris before you found a route through Avram Blane? Why were you so eager to take Amestris – as a path to attack Aerugo or Drachma from a more advantageous angle?

Though he rather knew the answer to the last. It had to be Aerugo – there was no advantageous position from which to attack Drachma.

And he knew, without doubt, that the team of Cretians sitting before them would never answer a single question honestly. They were as shrewd and manipulative as any politicians he had ever met. It was clear their diplomatic presence was simply one more tool for Creta to leverage for a weakness, and wait for the right time to exploit it.

And Mustang was no closer to truly understanding their motives than he'd been seven months ago.

No army was roused in the few weeks Franklin Sorn had been feeding them intel. That attack had been literal years in the making, and without understanding what it was that motivated Creta, it was simply another conflict waiting to boil over into a larger war.

Roy finally allowed his lips to curl upwards, modulating the expression into a self-deprecating smile. "My apologies, Ambassador -"

To both the right and left of the Parliament theater, the double doors opened. That in itself was not unusual, as Parliament support staff were welcome to come and go as they pleased, but the sheer amount of Amestrian blue – _armed_ Amestrian blue – was a little excessive.

Fully a regiment of Amestrian soldiers were entering the Parliament chambers. During session.

Mustang felt a sudden presence behind him – Goodman and Brooks had stepped off the wall – and for one endless, surreal moment, Roy wondered if it was a coup. But no, they'd have shot him immediately, Hakuro wasn't stupid enough to let him see the threat and have time to respond –

"-as you can see," he continued smoothly, glancing inquiringly at the highest ranking officer he could pick out, Major General Tash – "there has been a slight change of agenda." The general himself was not at his usual place, he and the Speaker had known Hakuro would be out, he had requested leave to be with his daughter -

Major General Lee Tash was also seeking his eye. He wasn't smiling.

Something was wrong. And Parliament knew it; they'd already started up an uneasy murmur.

"You see," Mustang continued, keeping his smile fixed in place, "after review of the events during and after the West Conflict, several officers had been overlooked for recognition of their valor, selflessness, and courage in the face of the threat to Amestris." He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, splaying fingers that had reflexively curled. "We intend to rectify that now with an awards ceremony. I apologize for not making that agenda change available to you."

The troops were very quickly creating a perimeter around Parliament, so if it wasn't a coup, it was a clear and present danger to Parliament itself. However, the soldiers – their commanding officers, more likely – were smart enough to line the theater walls and aisles without bodily grabbing Parliament minsters and hustling them out of the room.

Mustang had no delusions that his ruse was going undetected. But Ambassador Gabin, ever the diplomat, mockingly allowed him to continue.

"Of course, Prime Minister. We shall finish our update at your convenience." Which undoubtedly meant a private meeting, but at this point Roy didn't care. He stood, surveying the room calmly, and nodded as the Cretian party gathered their folders. It was fairly clear the First Secretary wanted to point out the obvious deceit, but an almost imperceptible shake of Gabin's head quieted him, and Parliament continued to murmur as the Cretians filed out of the room. The enlisted at the door permitted it, securing the door when they had exited.

Once the doors were closed, Parliament gave up any pretenses, all speaking at once, and Mustang raised his hand, calling for silence. He didn't immediately get it, and he glared at Chamber Speaker Durnd, who acted as sergeant-at-arms and whose sole purpose in life was to get his colleagues to shut up on command.

Tash didn't wait, coming with long, rapid strides to stand directly before their bench. He made no move to take up a weapon; Mustang was certain Goodman would have shot him before he could have so much as touched his service pistol. Richard had also risen to his feet, beside him, and Tash didn't waste time.

"Cardinal procedure has been executed, level beta. You both need to be secured at once."

Roy digested that. Cardinal procedure was invoked when one of the top three leaders in government had been compromised. He and the Speaker were obviously fine, which meant the absent General of the State Military, third in line to govern, was the compromised party.

If he was dead, it would have been alpha. Beta meant he was missing.

"General Hakuro is unaccounted for," Mustang translated quietly for the Speaker. But simply being unaccounted for would not trigger a Cardinal procedure. There would have to be evidence of foul play, a kidnapping or some kind of signal –

Tash didn't keep them in suspense. "The general's family has been murdered."

Mustang heard it but didn't bother trying to comprehend it. "No sign of the general?"

The major general shook his head. "We're still trying to find him."

General Hakuro had specifically asked that both he and the Speaker attend this particular session, since two out of three of Amestris' key leaders were required to attend all Parliament sessions. Which meant Hakuro had planned to be away, and had given that message to his own staff, and possibly other members of Parliament, well before the session began.

Anyone who wanted to take him en route to his home would have had at least a day's notice of his change of plans. More than enough time, if the group was small enough.

"Has there been any kind of communication?"

The major general's lips thinned. "We've received no demands. No group has taken responsibility."

Yet.

Durnd had attempted to regain order in the meantime, and Mustang again waved for silence. However, it was the Speaker who took the floor.

"There's been a security breach. For our safety, the military is advising we be placed into protective custody. This is not a drill," he added drolly. They'd actually had one not two months ago. "Please proceed to the secondary hall, where we will all be briefed by the State military."

It was as much a command to the major general as it was to Parliament, and Tash gave the speaker a sharp nod. Mustang turned immediately for the rear door, and the hall that led toward his offices, only to find a human mountain standing in his path.

He let his eye flash. "Stand aside."

Roy Mustang was well aware of what Cardinal procedure dictated, because he'd been one of the authors. It had seemed prudent, after his mistake with the Irvings, to ensure there was guidance in place should one or more of the new leaders of Amestris be killed. According to protocol, he would be shepherded into the same secured hall as the rest of the Parliament and the Speaker, to lessen the pressure on their forces to secure unnecessary parts of the capitol building. At the time he'd written the procedure, he'd had an office full of staff that he could count on to be his eyes and ears during whatever event triggered a Cardinal procedure.

And now he didn't have them. Hawkeye had taken everyone but Challiel, Goodman, and Brooks with her when she'd left. He of course had staff, some of the most competent officers in the military, but none he would trust with something like this. And until they had a target, there was no reason to pull in a sniper team, meaning Hawkeye – and her staff – were going to be in the dark for at least several hours more.

This was Hakuro. If his family had been murdered, that was obviously a message for both of them that this was life and death. They had to find the general, and fast, or all they were going to find was a corpse.

"No sir." Brooks' voice was inflectionless.

"I'll secure the Prime Minister's and Speaker's transportation and residences," Goodman announced unnecessarily, somewhere over Mustang's left shoulder, and Brooks gave his partner a nod, never taking his eyes off Mustang.

Roy knew what that meant as clearly as Brooks did, but it didn't make him feel any better. They were good men, but –

 _They are what you have_ , Mustang reminded himself sharply. Goodman would get out into the field, and Roy was quite sure Brooks knew how to contact him with updates. Challiel could run interference if needed, and potentially get more information from the other executive administrative assistants.

Which left him sitting in a hall getting limited intel and being unable to do much of anything with it.

Still, the Cardinal procedure did allow him use of a phone. "Very well," he conceded, in what he hoped was a reasonably civil tone, and was rewarded with absolutely zero reaction from Brooks.

Their standoff had not gone unnoticed, as Mustang turned to see both the Speaker and the major general watching him.

"They're good men," Speaker of the House Richard Legrand said quietly. "I may never forgive you for filching them."

"I placed four officers on the other side of that door." The major general somehow managed to make it sound even more insulting than it was. "Prime Minister, your place is with Parliament now."

. . . perhaps a coup wasn't off the table after all.

Mustang gestured for the Speaker to step down off their bench, and Major General Lee Tash waited for them both to pass before flanking them – on Mustang's left.

-x-

"I see the building is still standing."

His brother didn't even bother to look up from his ledger. "Compressed gases are perfectly safe when they stay compressed."

Ed strode past the main counter, coming around to the administrative side of the Academy's main offices, and Paise Dueys gave him a bright smile.

"Did we have a nice walk this afternoon?"

When she'd first come to work for the academy, to hear Al tell it, she had been a little leery of Edward's moodiness. Particularly in the mornings. Eventually she'd found the courage to start pointing out his multiple personalities by using the pronoun "we" when speaking to him, to include all the many Edward Elrics that she encountered on a daily basis.

Once she had seen how well he'd responded – and Ed hadn't minded a bit, because quite frankly he'd take sarcasm over patronizing any day of the week – she had started to use it a bit more cuttingly. That innocent question was probably in reference to the fact that she'd seen him walk by, spot the enlisted, and then literally flee the building.

So, looking for him then.

"I'm sure you were able to answer all their questions."

Paise's smile became more genuine. "Thank you. We did the best we could."

That second "we" probably didn't include him, which meant it included Mira. He glanced around as he headed for the incoming mail bin, but there was no sign of the slightly ferret-like woman who kept the Academy moving like clockwork.

"What did they want?"

"Information on one of our applicants." _That_ got his attention; he dropped the bills back into the mail bin and turned.

"Which student?"

Paise shook her head, handing him a thin file. "Not a student. It was a civilian applicant."

Ed accepted the file and flipped it open. Only the application form was inside, bearing the large, black "REJECTED" stamp in the Indication box. The reason was clear; the alchemist applying did not have a State Certification. Nasim Porier, from Liore. His submission had included his specialty, which seemed to be minerals and geological interests. His submitted paper, which was not part of the file, had been titled "Mineral Resources and Mining Improvements."

He flipped to the second page of the application, but nothing else stood out. He was twenty-four, of mixed heritage, and had never enlisted or applied to become a State Alchemist. "Where's the dissertation?"

"The investigator wanted to make a copy," Dueys replied promptly. "I saw no harm in permitting it."

Ed just nodded, closing the file. "What did he do?"

"They wouldn't say." Mira Bansk was the one who answered, emerging from the Records room. "But they did say they've been looking for him for a while, and when it came to light that he was an alchemist, they thought he may have come here to apply in person for next semester."

Al had also looked up from his grade ledger, his expression curious. "Did he?"

Paise shook her head. "There's certainly no record of it, unless . . .?"

But her coworker just frowned, settling herself at her desk. "None that I could find. I mean, we wouldn't have one if he had just come in and asked without leaving a name."

Al blinked. "Does that happen often? Civilian alchemists coming here in person?"

Ed knew why Al was so curious. The requirement that the Academy accept only State-certified alchemists was one from the Prime Minister himself, and one they both disagreed with. It was to encourage alchemists to enlist, thus bringing them under the Prime Minister's control as a military force. There had been only one exemption from this rule, and that was Fletcher Tringum.

Al had long argued that the requirement was contrary to the mission of the Academy, which was to further the knowledge of all the sciences, and Ed wholeheartedly agreed. They'd repeatedly petitioned to drop the requirement, but had been consistently overruled by Mustang. And as the offices of the Prime Minister funded the Academy, they could accept the requirement, or they could close the doors and walk away.

He really was a controlling bastard sometimes.

Dueys shook her head again. "Not often. Typically we'll take their name and information and pass it to the headmaster."

All eyes turned his way, and Ed's brain stalled. His desk was a rainbow ruin of notes, files, reports, and exams. And it had been that way most of the semester. "Uh, unless you handed it to me personally, it's probably on my desk . . ."

Paise and Mira exchanged a look, and then Mira sighed in a very put-upon way, squared her shoulders, and stood. "I'll try to divine it," she announced grimly, and headed around the counter.

Of course. Mira Bansk believed strongly in the powers of the psyche, and would probably spend the next hour waving her palm over the assorted piles and trying to sense which piece of paper was either crying out for help or exuding an aura of evil intent.

Unbidden, an image of Noah came to his mind, and Edward stifled his own sigh. There had been no explanation for her ability to read people's thoughts, and no doubt in his mind that it had been real. She said she had seen his memories of Amestris while he slept, and there was no other explanation for her having that knowledge. There was also no doubt, given the weekly evidence, that Mira didn't seem to have a knack for that skill, if it was even possible in their world at all. A glance at the pad on the corner of her desk confirmed; fifty seven times she had tried to divine which of the four weekly marks envelopes was the copy that would be posted to the library wall for the students, and she had correctly guessed the envelope six times. With a one in four chance, probability said she should have guessed it correctly at least 14 times.

Her psychic abilities, if she had any, were worse than random selection. She wasn't going to find any notes related to Nasim Porier unless she did it the old-fashioned way, and actually looked.

Or he bit the bullet and did it.

Ugh.

"Did the investigators seem to think he was in danger?" Or he _was_ a danger?

Paise looked thoughtful. "They mentioned they'd been looking for him, but nothing else."

Ed frowned, and held up the folder. "He never enlisted. Why is the military pursuing him?"

"His uncle is a sergeant in East, logistics division," she answered promptly. "He was with the investigator."

Huh. So family had brought in the big guns. It still didn't tell him whether this guy was on the run from them, or he'd split town with the family silver. Ed held the file back out to Paise, who accepted it, and made an executive decision. "If Mira doesn't make any headway, I'll look tomorrow morning." After all, promising to look was not the same as promising to find. "Don't let her stay at it too late."

Al raised an eyebrow. "Going somewhere?"

Ed smirked. "Yeah, actually, I've got a date tonight."

That got the other eyebrow. "I didn't think Winry was coming up until next week."

She'd promised to come up after exams, when her own work would be winding down for the holidays and Pinako would chase her out of the house anyway to do their year-end inventory. Apparently the miniature-sized hag had recovered well from her fractured pelvis and subsequent alchemic surgery, and was not above reminding people about it. Also, Winry had been pretty slammed taking on Pinako's automail customers on top of her own during her gran's recovery, and could certainly use the break. Whether she wanted it or not.

A date with Winry would have been significantly more nerve-wracking than what he had planned – he hoped - but he could find solace in that it would at least be better than rooting through his desk. "Not with her, unfortunately."

His brother's surprise drained instantly into suspicion. "What are you up to?"

Nothing he really wanted to get into in front of Paise. "Just checking in on a certain someone." Stalking a certain someone, really. "I need to get a few answers."

Like what Franklin really was doing with his time. Their conversation that afternoon aside, he had a feeling Sorn wasn't heading straight home every day, and since he hadn't assigned the other alchemist any missions, and Franklin had no money, it wasn't likely that the kid was spending his evenings working or hanging out in dance halls.

He was also obviously getting into trouble, and Ed needed to know whether it was just bullying by his colleagues, or something more serious. Maybe it was like he said, and Sorn would lead him on a merry tour of the local restaurants.

But Ed wasn't holding his breath.

Even if Al didn't fully infer all that, he got the gist. "Anything to avoid actual work."

Ed spread his hands. "I thought you'd be happy. I won't be home til after dinner."

Al's grin became sly. "Neither will I."

It didn't take a genius to piece that one together, though the happy little tilt of Paise's head certainly helped, and Ed grinned himself, focusing again on the bills. "Glad to hear it. You kids have fun."

"Same to you."

-x-

The doorhandle was locked, and she stared at it for a long moment. If the door was locked, there was no point in going in.

And no point in staying out.

She fumbled with her keys, fighting first to get them out of her goddamn pocket, then the stupid apron flap got in the way, and by the time she actually got the key in the lock she was pretty sure she was going to snap it off before she could get the fucking door open.

Kaylie kicked it shut behind her – no point in worrying about noise, or boot prints – and started pulling everything off. Stupid bun. Stupid jacket. Stupid, stupid apron. Boots were dumb, but not annoying enough that she didn't at least park it on her bed to pull them off. Not much point in anything tonight, but she sure as hell wasn't going to have to buff out scuff marks on her stupid boots tomorrow morning.

No, because that'd piss you _right_ off, wouldn't it.

Kaylie groaned, flopping spread eagle backwards on the bed. All she wanted to do was just eat a nice dinner, talk about nothing until she was tired, and go to bed. Was it _so_ much to ask that not every single person she knew abandon her?

The bedroom was dark – no point in turning on the lights – and she lay there just long enough to confirm that she wasn't going to immediately sack out. Dammit. It was also too cold to lay on top of the comforter half naked.

Her stupid uniform confirmed its stupidity by being a pain to pick up, refusing to lay nicely on the hangar, and generally intentionally trying to piss her off. She finally had to flick the hall light on, and she glared at the very deliberately placed card on the hall table, refusing to read it as she stomped back towards her room.

Stupid room. Stupid apartment. She'd have to remember to call Baker House tomorrow and withdraw her tenant application, dammit –

No way she was going to afford that on her salary. And even if she could, it wasn't like she was moving to Central anyway.

Ten minutes found her at least more comfortable, in her fall robe and slippers, and she snatched up the card as she swept through the hall into the kitchen.

Which was as cold and dark as the rest of the flat. Because there was no one home. No one but her.

She turned on the light above the sink, almost startled by the dead, white face in the glass. She stared at it a moment, truly surprised when it didn't even so much as frown at her. She poked her cheek; the reflection did the same.

She didn't even look angry. She just looked . . .

Done. She looked done.

The anger was seeping away into exhaustion, and she dropped her eyes to the card. No reason to be mad at Emeline, it wasn't like she'd known how bad a day it was going to be.

 _KK,_

 _I know you probably had a bad day today, and I'm sure your team tried to cheer you up and you didn't let them, because you're an idiot._

Well, so much for not knowing . . .

 _I'm also an idiot, because I let Nick talk me into going to help him with his dissertation. It's due in a week and he's . . . well, he's Nick. It wasn't something I could do over the phone and the library here is shit._

Everything in Krozeburg was shit.

 _I left you a present in the fridge. Well, two presents. I figured you might need options. I should be back tomorrow, unless . . . well, it's Nick, so . . . I'll call you either way. It's gonna be okay. Things work out for the best. You'll see._

 _E._

Kaylie read the note twice, and it made her feel just the tiniest bit better. Her mood improved significantly, however, when she opened the fridge.

A sandwich, complete with sliced tomato, bratwurst, and mayonnaise – her absolute favorite – was plated on the top shelf, besides a bottle of pinot noir that had been partially uncorked, and a red wine glass.

Options.

"Thank you Emeline," she muttered fervently, and withdrew the bottle of wine and glass. Then she looked at the sandwich. The green olive on the plate looked back inquiringly, and she shrugged.

"Sorry buddy. I only have two hands. See you in the morning."

A pinot noir dinner deserved only the very best, and she carried her new friend into the dining room, choosing to light the hurricane lamp instead of the overhead. The light was enough to see the room – the only point of which to make sure she didn't knock over the wine – and the steady flame was soothing to her aching eyes. The sulphur dioxide from the match head gave the pinot a little bite, and she held the wine in her mouth until it had warmed a little before letting it trickle down her throat.

The second glass was even better than the first, and Kaylie let her head fall back against the back of the chair. Eventually her uneven skull tipped her face to the right, where the outline of a silent phone shone in the lamplight. It was too late to expect a call tonight, her sister was probably eyebrows deep in text books by now and wouldn't come out until tomorrow morning.

At least her little sis had found someone she could tolerate. He was in for a hell of a surprise once he finally realized what he'd gotten himself into.

The metal dialing plate of the phone seemed to glow in the lamplight, and when she realized she'd finished dinner and there was nothing else to do, she reached for it. Her father thought it was scandalous, that her mother would put a telephone in reach of the dining room table, but technology was technology, and since this was the place her mother most frequently did her sewing, her da had lost that fight.

It was super convenient, she didn't even have to stand up to bring it to the table.

Kaylie stared at it there on the table, glinting invitingly like the empty wineglass. Then she carefully picked up the receiver, pinned it between her ear and shoulder as she did every day at work, and methodically dialed the numbers, ensuring that the rotating plate never actually came to a stop.

The line connected with a click, and she counted. One. Two. Three. Four.

Five rings was reasonable if someone was in a bath, or had to dry their hands from the kitchen sink. Six was reasonable if you had to excuse yourself from guests.

Seven was borderline. Eight was definitive.

Kaylie let the receiver slither down the front of her robe, eventually fishing it out of her lap and placing it gently back into the cradle. She sighed lightly, and her eyes fell upon the empty wineglass again.

". . . you look like you need a friend. Let's see who we can find."

-x-

It was a little past seven when he finally made it out, and quite a bit colder. Not unexpected; it was probably exactly what Saundra had predicted, down to the degree. She truly had earned her title, the Clouded Alchemist, and was the most talented meteorologist in Central City, and second most talented alchemist when it came to weather manipulation.

She was also very good about posting the next several days' weather predictions on the Announcements board. Not only was it going to drop another ten degrees tonight, tomorrow there would be drizzle to go with the morning fog. He'd have to remember his winter overcoat.

Franklin Sorn turned the other half of his collar up and tucked his head down, letting his pack bounce lightly against his back as he walked.

Some of the sycamore's leaves had blown over the Academy's massive stone fence, and he watched them in the artificial streetlight as they drifted across the concrete sidewalk. Many of them ended up in the street and briefly airborne again as they were propelled by the wind of passing cars, others got stuck on the rough surface of the concrete, destined to be trampled by feet just like his.

Trampled into dirt, then swept aside by wind to be transformed back into grass, or dandelions, or mushrooms.

His stomach rumbled at the thought of mushrooms, and Sorn heaved a little sigh. They would have dinner nearly ready. He'd made them wait again.

They only made dinner early because of him. Back in Liore, they'd waited until eight or nine o'clock. He knew why they'd changed their routine, and he appreciated it. But not enough to head there.

There would be too much time. Time for conversations. Time for questions. Time, his constant enemy, triumphantly marching with agonizing slowness always forward. He was dragged forward with it, like everyone and everything else, and he always would be.

Franklin gently brushed one of the leaves out of his way, back into the grass beside the sidewalk. At least that one could decompose gently, at its own pace. He didn't have to help time along.

The spiteful thought almost made him smile. He truly was a child if he was personifying a dimensional force.

The sycamore rustled as he passed it, heading along King toward Broad, and he looked up at it, wondering if Phillip was still on duty, guarding his palace from all the human invaders. Not many to hiss at; classes ended pretty early on Thursdays to accommodate any reports the State Alchemists may have to make on Friday mornings to the various committees and subcommittees that made up the State military. His colleagues – at least the alchemical ones – had left hours ago. He was the lone figure on the block. Exactly the way he had planned.

And he had no committee or subcommittee meetings to worry about. He wasn't part of any committees. He hadn't even been assigned so much as a mission since the hearing. His day didn't start until nearly noon tomorrow, so he could afford to stay out late. The four miles between the Academy and the Prices wouldn't take any time at all.

And that simply left too much time, and not enough to occupy it with.

Maybe what he'd said to Full Metal had been the truth. Maybe he really did want to focus on a small business. There was no reason it shouldn't be a restaurant. He liked food, and there was plenty of chemistry to it, ingredients reacting to each other and heat, proteins denaturing and forming new compounds –

Just like they had, their bodies melting together, iron and sodium and all that water up in steam –

Sorn physically flinched from the memory, turning his face. That memory was his now. It would never be gone. That was the thought, that broadcast through his head over and over and over. At the time he'd felt almost nothing -

Now revulsion cramped his gut, and Sorn stopped at the corner, swallowing hard.

Now he was a murderer. Now those deaths were real. Those faces he couldn't even remember. The song they'd been singing was long discarded as a worthless piece of information. No names. They were just limbs and torsos and hair.

How could they live with this? Most of the people he worked with had committed murder. The soldiers, the other alchemists, especially the ones who fought in Ishbal. They just went on, like nothing was wrong. Like there was no cancerous recollection there, throbbing and swelling and poisoning his sleep, his waking, his equations –

How was he supposed to just get up and perform meaningless tasks and go to sleep, over and over and over again?

This was life now. Until he died, this was every day.

Sorn sighed again, letting the cold air numb him, just a touch, and he glanced down Broad. There were still several cars parked there, probably faculty. The military had left him his car – they could have taken it, he could just make another – but he had had to transmute the distinctiveness of it away. The lack of an exhaust system, the muffler, the sleeker design he had chosen that was far more aerodynamic, all these things had made it a target.

It was a machine, but it was a machine that had traveled with him for a long time. He didn't want to see it damaged or destroyed.

And so it was camouflaged, it looked much like the other higher end models the faculty drove. He changed up the color and body every other morning, just to throw off any alchemist – or anyone else – from vandalizing it. And it was right where he'd left it, fourth down the block, burgundy this morning though it looked almost black in the dark. The streetlamp must have gone out.

There was no one on walking on this block, either, so he pulled out his ring of arrays. Fixing a streetlamp shouldn't be much different than any other electrical system, he'd just need to figure out which metals –

Glass shattered, almost directly behind him, and Sorn jumped about two feet into the air, whirling around.

A thick, shallow bowl was in a thousand pieces there on the sidewalk, like a pile of slushy ice. There was no sound, save the wind and distant traffic – not that he was sure he'd even hear it over his own pulse in his ears – and Sorn stared at it a moment before looking straight up.

Just in time to see that streetlamp go out, with a spark and quiet metallic ping.

Nothing else shattered. So the lightbulb was intact; the electrical wires had been severed. Why go to all that trouble when they'd had to break the globe to –

To make the block nice and dark.

Franklin put his back to the car parked on the corner, casually running his fingers over his ring of arrays. Whoever they were, they were stupid to give him that kind of ammunition. "Isn't once today enough?" he called out, keeping his voice steady with effort. The alchemists should have known better, so it must have been someone else –

There was the sound of feet lightly hitting the sidewalk, no, two sets of them, and a breathy snort. "Come. We will not harm you."

The voice was accented, and not one he immediately recognized. It was light and young, probably male. He heard no footsteps, but even in what little light he had from further up the street, he could see that an inky black shadow was standing nearly in front of him.

His forefinger found the notches he wanted, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Even through his eyelids, a brilliant flash of light had the door behind him transforming itself into a rectangular column, extending seven feet and hurling the shadow into the Academy wall. He heard more than saw the impact, ducking under his transmutation to put it between himself and where he thought the other had been, and he slapped a new array on the automobile. Time to make enough light to see.

Unfortunately, the car shifted beneath his hand, and then a foot came down on his array – hard. The other foot kicked him in the face.

Franklin fell back and bounced off the hood of the next car, slithering down the bumper to the street and getting hit in the head by his own dislodged pack of books. His right hand stung like crazy but it didn't feel broken, neither did his nose, and he reached around himself with his left hand, trying to catch the ring. It was on a retractor, he wasn't done yet –

The same foot pinned his left arm to his waist, effectively trapping him.

". . . I don't think this is the right one." This voice was feminine, also young, and she sounded disgusted.

There was a quiet grunt from the Academy wall. "Take him anyway."

Asphalt. Cement and aggregates. Rock, sand, gravel, tar. He brought his stinging right hand to his trapped left, then slapped it onto the street. Two arms of stone rose up on either side of him, grabbing the woman by the torso and hurling her back against the first car. He rolled to his right, away from both the sidewalk and the growling woman, and lost his pack but didn't bother with it, he just had to make it to his car -

And he ran full speed into a beam of something immovable at chest height. After that, it was all he could do to lay there in the street and just try to breathe. The sky was nearly starless, there was too much cloud cover and a waning moon besides, and he couldn't even make out shadows, let alone who was standing over him or where exactly they were.

"You will release my vassal." Same unfamiliar accent. Nothing unfamiliar about his tone.

"Release mine first."

The clap almost seemed to echo, and abruptly the street exploded into silent daylight. Sorn flinched, screwing his eyes shut, and got the impression of things moving very quickly near his face. There were the sounds of blows being exchanged, then a body bouncing off a car, the muffled crumpling of glass – windshield, his brain supplied – and a grunt of pain.

Something fast and metallic whistled through the air and impacted the body of one of the cars, and his professor made an appreciative sound.

"Nice. I knew a guy who threw knives." There was another clap, and the sound of a transmutation involving metal. "Never asked him where he learned."

Sorn cracked his eyes open, pleased to see the initial flash had died down to something closer to normal indoor lighting. The Academy wall was glowing up and down the entire block, and not four feet from him stood Edward Elric, casually twirling a long metal lance. No, a spear, he saw as he rolled onto his side. There was a blade on the end of it.

Just like the one Alphonse had attacked him with earlier that day.

"Step aside or die," the older of the two male voices spat, and Franklin pushed himself to his feet, still trying to catch his breath. Elric didn't so much as twitch in his direction, but it was clear his words were not for their attackers.

"You good?"

"Yeah." It sounded more like a wheeze than a word, but apparently it was enough for Full Metal. One of the shadows was crouched on top of the Academy wall – so the transmutation wasn't hot, or at least not hot enough – and the other stood just outside Full Metal's range, at an angle to him. They were covered from head to toe in black, including their faces, and only their eyes and the small strip of skin between were exposed.

"Mind telling me what al-"

That was as far as Elric got. Almost faster that Franklin could see, the spear was dancing in his hands. Several small, triangular shards of metal pinged and clattered their way across the street, but Full Metal was already in flight, swinging the blade of the spear down towards the head of his enemy. The shadow sidestepped him but Elric spun neatly in midair, following his dodge and landing a kick that sent the shadow flying.

Franklin wasn't sure what Edward had done to the wall, but it still had to be at least partially made of stone. He intended for it to become liquid, absorbing the one on top of the wall, but before he even got his hands to the street that person was on the move. The arc of their leap was perfect, thus predictable, and Franklin imagined the concrete of the sidewalk becoming liquid instead by taking apart the aggregates and adding water from the drainage pipe below.

The young shadow saw the light gathering beneath him, and splayed out like a spider, landing with his hands and feet on either side of the square of liquid concrete. He caught the rest of his body less than an inch from the surface of it, and remained there, perfectly balanced, before he sprang up impossibly nimbly. Sorn concentrated on concrete again, a wall this time –

And the shadow vaulted right over it, still heading straight for him.

The ground in front of Franklin crackled, and a wall of angled spikes erupted out towards his attacker. The shadow slammed on the brakes, slipping on the concrete and arresting his forward momentum less than a finger's width from losing an eye.

Franklin glanced towards Full Metal; he'd lost the spear at some point and had paid for that transmutation with a kick to the gut, and when he looked up from his crouch Sorn was not surprised to see blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. It was on his teeth, too, as he bared them in a grin.

"You should be running."

His hands were hovering a scant inch off the ground.

The light from the wall and the transmutations had certainly attracted attention; Sorn could make out headlights heading their way through the horseshoe of spikes. The two men glanced at one another, and then there was a muffled snap as the woman slithered her way out of the stone hands. He was sure that sound must have been one – or more - bones, but she regained her feet silently, and as one the three fled to the other side of the street, vaulting the wrought iron fence there and disappearing into the hedges.

Frankin backed out of the horseshoe, scanning the foliage, but whatever transmutation Full Metal had used was starting to fade – the phosphorus, probably – and the hedges around the Third Library were ancient and thick. There just wasn't enough light.

"Let 'em go."

The hedges remained quite still, and after another few seconds he heard Elric step out into the street. He didn't say anything, just wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrow and trained on the hedge. Outside of a little dirt, and the blood from his cut lip, he seemed fine. He was wearing causal clothes, in dark fall colors, so it was hard to really tell for sure, and he smirked as he caught Franklin's inspection.

"I'm good too. Thanks for asking."

Franklin just looked at him, and after a few seconds Edward shook his head, and then clapped. The damage to the road repaired itself, and then Ed straightened, glancing inquiringly over his shoulder.

"I'm not cleaning this up by myself. Move your ass."

Since he was responsible for at least one of the cars, Franklin obliged, and soon the windshields were whole, the cars did not have rectangular bars sticking out of their sides, and the streetlights were back on. He chose to do his transmutations the traditional way, with so many eyes watching, and he gathered his pack and confirmed the contents before waiting reluctantly by his car while Full Metal handled the curious bystanders.

He could finally make a fist again with his swollen right hand when Elric came to join him, toying with a small, metallic triangle. Probably one of the weapons they'd been throwing. They needed to make sure those things had been recovered from the street, or multiple drivers would be testing the integrity of their spare tires in a few hours' time.

Full Metal frowned at the weapon, and then his eyes slid to Franklin's without blinking. "Who were those guys?"

Two guys. One female. "I don't know."

His professor snorted. "Were those the same people who roughed you up this morning?"

Sorn dropped his chin without thinking, and then closed his eyes. Clearly there was no point in hiding it, since he just as clearly had failed to do so earlier. "No."

Edward was silent a moment. "I'm only going to ask you one more time-"

"Before what?" It wasn't hard to look Full Metal in the eye, somehow, and for the first time in a long time he felt an emotion other than despair stirring in his gut. "Before you report me as a threat? Before you send me back to military prison?"

Elric's head cocked to the side thoughtfully. "I was thinking I'd just let 'em take you, and see where you ended up. But we could always toss you in a cell and see if they came to bail you out . . ."

God, Full Metal was _such_ an asshole. "What were you doing out here anyway?" But then the dark clothes, the happy coincidence - "You were following me."

Something in Edward's expression shifted. "I was," he admitted, without a trace of embarrassment. "I asked you to tell me what you were up to and you refused. What did you expect?"

Franklin turned towards the car with some vague intention of simply driving away, and Full Metal put a very human hand against the car door. "Answer me!"

"I don't know!" It was a shout, and he clamped his mouth shut, but it was too late to suck the words back in, and his body and voice were still shaking from adrenaline. "I don't know who they were! I don't know why they were here!"

Somehow, it felt good to yell, and he turned on Full Metal so fast the other alchemist actually flinched. "What do you _want_ from me!? I'm doing everything you wanted, everything I'm supposed to! Get off my back!"

Edward had taken his hand off the car, his eyes wide with surprise, and then he grinned – he fucking _grinned_ – and without even thinking Franklin swung.

The punch didn't land; Full Metal jerked his face to the side at the last second, and Franklin expected to find himself on his back again, there were hands on his wrist and at his elbow, he was going to be thrown –

"Good speed. The power comes from your shoulder, though, not your arm." His outstretched wrist was gently rotated. Franklin blinked up at Full Metal, completely nonplussed, and the older alchemist was still grinning. It wasn't condescending. It was a real smile.

"I wanted to know that you're still in there. I also think it's past time we teach you some real combat skills. Did you even go through boot camp?"

He was too surprised to be sarcastic when Elric simply released his arm. "Requirements were fast-tracked. I never asked why."

Full Metal's expression said more than words what he thought about that, but he let it go, glancing back at the hedges. "They say anything useful?"

Useful was relative. "That they weren't going to hurt me." Hurt was apparently _also_ relative, and he flexed his right hand again and then brought it up to his nose. Sore but not bleeding. "One of them asked if I was 'the right one.'"

The sour expression on Elric's face remained. "Were you?"

"Consensus seemed to be grab now and sort out details later."

"And they clearly weren't surprised by the alchemy." Full Metal took a deep breath, releasing it in a gust. "With your luck, they really were targeting you. Did you recognize that accent?"

Franklin shook his head, but he wasn't really paying attention. If he was being targeted, then grabbing him outside the Academy had been the best place, but it was far from the only place. Because of the trial, all of Central knew who his guardians were.

He slipped into the driver's seat without a word, blindly tossing his pack behind him, and he found that he wasn't really surprised when the passenger door opened. The car was moving before Elric could get it closed, but he didn't seem to mind.

"They're on foot, and one of them is injured. There's enough time for you to get my f- get my guardians out. Those people weren't alchemists, so simple traps should work-"

"No, they won't." Elric held up a hand, stalling Franklin's protest. "Hear me out. They were Xingese, possibly part of the Royal Guard. I don't know how much you know about Xing, but there are a bunch of clans who are constantly trying to kill each other for the emperor's favor. Trust me, there's not much they'll not have already seen before."

Franklin closed his mouth for a moment. "So we let them into the house and transmute all the doors and windows away."

In his peripheral vision, he saw Elric frown. "If they're really Royal Guard, they'll have explosives. They'd just blow out a wall at a weak point and escape. Also, I doubt all three would enter the house."

"There's two of us."

"And we'd be playing on home turf, yes, but they'll be expecting a trap."

Fine, so just build one they can't get out of. "There's enough sewer infrastructure to reinforce the walls with metal. Or, we can fill the house with natural gas, enough that they can't use explosives without killing themselves. Whoever goes in the house is contained and gassed, and we'll handle whoever doesn't go in."

His professor snorted. "We?"

His right hand started to ache more strongly, and Franklin concentrated on relaxing it. "Do you have a better idea?"

"I like where you're headed. It's just not enough."

Franklin stole a glance at Full Metal as he took a quick and illegal turn onto Tracer, ignoring the horn he got for his troubles. Elric wasn't frowning anymore. His expression was much more serious.

"If they've got reinforcements, they'll bring 'em. We should too."

-x-

 **Author's Notes** : I don't mean to string you guys along, just needed to set up a couple things. It's been so long since I've written a PAA, I don't even remember what I usually talk about here. Chapter guesses . . . probably wrapped up in five. [cues laugh track]. I know, I'm hilarious. More than PAA: II, less than PAA: III? Next up, that's always safe – next up we should probably establish the whereabouts of a certain missing general, and maybe explosions.

(Between Ed and Paise, if he breaks up her dinner plans . . .)

And we've got a civilian alchemist on the loose from East, a bummed out soldier in North, Creta's still being a pest in West, Xingese running around Central herself . . . so plenty of trouble for everyone to get into.

Good to see you again, JChrys, ShouldBeSleeping, and K. Spitfire! I honestly can't believe you're all still around, it's been a few years. =) Since this one is just for fun, anything in particular I should include for you three?


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer in previous chapters. Please see Author's Notes at the end.

-x-

"I think she'll be very happy with it, sir."

The sun had long set but there was enough of the streetlamps filtering through the tinted windows to see that the general was still playing with his latest purchase. He seemed completely fascinated by the misshapen little pillow, and Tobias didn't have the heart to explain to him that these were not a new invention, and he'd purchased one for his own wife over three years ago.

Then again, it had been a very long time since the general had had to purchase maternity supplies.

Presumably.

"And this really is enough? It seems too soft to offer much support."

Captain Martoff turned smoothly onto Maple, eyeing a cluster of brake lights several blocks down. "Well, your grandchild won't really be all that heavy in the beginning, and when your daughter is sitting up in the rocker, it ends up being exactly right." He'd personally driven both the general and his son-in-law to choose and acquire the rocking chair, so he felt that his admittedly limited opinion was of value. It had certainly been just perfect for Justine and Eva.

The collection of brakelights at the corner of Maple and 10th wasn't making much progress, and when they were perhaps a block out, he diverted onto 9th. It was his second favorite route, and the general didn't even notice, still enchanted with the teardrop shaped pillow. Tobias watched him in the rear view mirror for a few more moments.

"If I may, sir, my wife found that tucking it between her knees when she slept helped her lower back."

The general looked up, not at the back of his head, but at the mirror, and a passing streetlamp broadcast a band of light across his indulgent smile. "Yes, Luka mentioned she was snoring more, and sleeping on her back. I wondered if that was the reason. Lucille used to roll a bath towel and put it between her knees when she slept on her side, she said it helped." The general chuckled. "Of course, luck would have it she was always due in the summer, and she could never get cool enough. At least it's been more temperate weather for Clara."

He seemed to realize that they were on 9th. "Taking the scenic route?"

It was about a hundred yarz longer this way, but less traveled than 10th, and Tobias eased the car left, onto Oak. This part of the city was laid out in squares, so finding an alternate route in – or out – was never that difficult. The unmistakably military vehicle blocking the exit route, however, was a little out of the ordinary.

Tobias eased off the accelerator but didn't touch the brake, watching the rear view mirror again not for the general, but for any vehicle behind them. There was nothing visible, no headlights, no attempt to box them in, and he let them coast forward, not at all reassured when an enlisted by the blocking vehicle dashed suddenly off to his left.

To their right. In the direction he wanted to drive.

Tobias came to a full stop several yarz from the offending automobile, but soon enough the enlisted reappeared and approached the car. The captain had already casually dropped his right hand from the wheel, and his automatic, always in the front passenger seat, felt cool and comfortable through his black driving gloves. His hands were almost invisible in the dark, which was all the better.

The leather upholstery behind him creaked as the general leaned forward.

"Let him approach."

An order was an order, and Tobias kept one eye on the enlisted and one eye in the rear view mirror as the general rolled down his window.

"General sir!" The enlisted looked immensely relieved, and his breath steamed in the chill air. "It's good to see you, sir!"

"Thank you," the general responded drily. "Am I needed back at the capitol?" After all, why set up a grid around the general's home if not to net the man himself?

The enlisted had already started to shake his head, but apparently thought better of it and nodded. "Yes sir. Cardinal procedure has been activated. We need to secure you immediately, sir!"

Cardinal procedure. That meant that one of the three leaders of Amestris was dead, missing, or otherwise compromised, and Tobias palmed his weapon.

"Sitrep." The general's voice was sharp.

The enlisted seemed surprised by the rather obvious direction the conversation had turned, because he blanched, and then, strangely, he saluted. "Sir, I must ask you to return to the capitol at once, sir!"

The click of the door handle was all the warning either of them got, and Tobias was out of the car before the general had fully emerged. Other soldiers, including an officer, were well on the way, and Tobias scanned the homes around them. Curtains were twitching in windows, their neighbors were clearly curious and the commotion had been noticed –

How long had they been here, waiting for the general? It was at least an hour past the time he'd have been returning home had he actually attended session, but of course they should have known that he had taken leave to supplement the office's baby shower gifts.

The captain studied the enlisted soldier more closely, but the in dark, all he could make out was a thin mustache.

General Hakuro was more concerned with what he was hearing. "Who invoked Cardinal procedure? What level? Alpha?"

The enlisted had not recovered his color or his voice, but his lieutenant had been close enough to hear, and he jogged double-time over to their party, waving on several other enlisted. "Sir!"

He gave a smart salute, and the general returned it impatiently. "One of you answer me. That's an order."

"Beta, sir. We were unable to locate you." The lieutenant didn't wait for the general's response, and Tobias found himself the officer's new target. "Convey the general back to the capitol building at once. We will provide you an escort and secure the area."

"Nonsense." The general fixed the lieutenant with a steely gaze. "First, we can see that I am perfectly fine, so Cardinal procedure is now in level gamma. Second, I demand to know why it was executed in the first place. My office had my itinerary for the afternoon. Did you receive a credible threat or ransom note?"

The lieutenant pulled himself up straight. "We received a credible threat, sir."

"Then we're taking my family with me to the capitol," the general ordered without a trace of hesitation. "If you thought my residence may be a target, it may still be. Tobias will transport my wife and children, and I will return in a second vehicle."

"No sir." The lieutenant might as well have been denying a private an extended leave request. "Protocol dictates that you are to be secured immediately –"

"I wrote the damned protocol, I know what it says," Hakuro snapped, and then his eyes narrowed. "What aren't you telling me?" But the general himself didn't even wait for his own question to finish, he had already started double-time for the corner, and Tobias ducked into the car only to retrieve the keys before he hurried after the general. When he'd caught up he scanned 10th.

There were at least nine vehicles haphazardly parked directly in front of the Hakuro manor, including two military ambulances, a fire suppression truck, and a coroner's van. The whitewashed garden gate was propped open with one of Lucille's glazed flower pots, and the front door was thrown wide despite the chill fall air.

"General, sir-"

Tobias didn't even glance at the lieutenant. He followed his general.

-x-

The bell chimed pleasantly as he pulled the door open, and Kain Fuery could not get enough of the cool night air as the gaggle of women herded themselves outside, each one pausing to thank him for holding the door "- like a gentleman! What a rarity these days-"

The parade ended only about four feet onto the sidewalk, where they reformed their circle and continued to argue, and beside him, Sheska burrowed deeper into her coat, pushed her glasses further up her nose, and beamed at him.

"So!" It was almost a chirp. "What did you think?"

Fuery returned her smile, digging in his jacket pockets for the scarf he knew, he _knew_ was in there. He also started walking toward the car, lest they be pulled back into the discussion.

 _Again_.

"Well, uhm, it was very interesting-"

"Wasn't it a great reading for your first time? I mean, I know that they get the details wrong – and that's where I feel like I really make a difference to this club – but if you look past the obvious issues with the chimera biology and the antagonist's origin, it's really quite a good story-"

He felt his smile warming as they continued past the shop window, where the owner was turning the sign from "We're Open" to "Please Come Back!" He even looked a little forlorn, standing there beside his stool, and Fuery gave him a polite nod as they continued past the yellow glow of the bookshop's light and toward a long row of parked cars.

"- and admittedly the military references were just sloppy, it's not like the author couldn't have used the actual army manuals for reference, since it was set in 1918 –"

Kain nodded absently, still digging through his coat pockets, and he was brought to a sudden stop by Sheska, who stepped boldly in front of him and grabbed him by the collar.

He balked, but the sergeant did nothing more alarming than fish the scarf out from beneath the collar of his fall coat. Her verbal critique of the book club's evening offering didn't miss a beat.

"- and I realize there were plenty of . . . let's call them opportunities to be more historically accurate, but I really love the author for the realism of the action sequences, when she tries to express what people are thinking – oh, Winry made this for you, didn't she?"

Fuery blinked. Maybe Sheska was like the salamander/lion/frog/rat chimera from the book, and could simply absorb oxygen through her skin so she didn't need to breathe to speak. "Uhm . . . yes, she did. The last time she was here visiting Ed and Al she gave it to me."

"She is a very thoughtful woman," Sheska pronounced, and she tied the scarf loosely around his neck. It seemed to dawn on her quite suddenly what she'd just done, because she yanked her hands away as if scalded, but then darted back in to awkwardly smooth his collar back down. Then she hopped back as if she thought _he_ was the chimera. "Er, heh-heh-heh, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

He smiled at the hands hysterically waving inches from his face. "Uh, it's fine. Thank you! I was afraid I had left it in the bookstore."

"Oh! Of course!" Sheska gave a nervous laugh, then looked horrified. "I mean, of course not! I would never have let you leave something behind, but even if you had, Nolan would have kept it for you, it's –"

She trailed off, and Kain hoped it was because he was laughing. He couldn't help himself. The whole thing was just so surreal.

He was standing on the corner of Bradley and Nossett, at eight o'clock at night, with a near-hysterical woman who regularly shrieked if the floor creaked unexpectedly, who had just dragged him to a book reading about chimeras graphically eviscerating innocent townsfolk while a milksop of a protagonist essentially chewed his fingernails and did nothing about it.

And she _liked the book._

Sheska liked horror novels.

They were standing on a street that had literally been named after the homunculus that had tried to kill everyone in the city, and nearly succeeded in killing not only the both of them and their office mates, but taking the eye of their current Prime Minister. Sheska had survived two homunculi killing her former boss, almost killing her current boss, and almost killing all her friends. The horrors they had witnessed, the real chimera, the murderous alchemists, the actual monsters, and she had dragged him out on a Thursday night to listen raptly to the most campy, least accurate description of real evil he'd ever heard.

And she had done this because she thought it would cheer him up.

This is what cheered Sheska up.

Kain laughed until he was almost in tears, and when he finished, he saw that Sheska was nearly in the same state. Guilt stabbed him in the gut, wiping the smile right off his face.

"Oh, no, I'm not laughing at you-"

"Oh, it wasn't a good idea, was it," she half-wailed, grabbing her own collar as if she meant to disappear completely within her coat. "I thought it would be a nice surprise, but you just think I'm silly-"

"No, no, that's not it at all-" It was meant to be reassuring, but it was clearly having the opposite effect, because her voice was steadily rising in pitch.

"And on a cold night, I didn't think about the weather, and you're probably freezing and you didn't have the tea because it would keep you awake, I'm so stupid-"

"Sheska." He grabbed her elbows, giving her a little shake. "I had fun. I was laughing because I had fun."

Large eyes, very black in the dark, blinked behind her glasses. ". . . y-you did?"

Fuery thought about it a couple seconds. "Yeah. I did." It was even true. Granted, if he had ever daydreamed about himself on a darkened streetcorner with a woman in his arms, the woman probably wouldn't have been Sheska, and they wouldn't be standing within shouting distance of a bookstore, but somehow it kind of made sense. "I really did. Thank you."

The eyes blinked behind the glass again, and in the warped reflection of the bookstore front it almost looked like they blinked side to side, instead of up to down. "You . . . you mean it?"

The little knot of guilt in his stomach was relaxing. "Yeah."

They would have to be very careful that Hawkeye's students didn't find out about this, or he'd never hear the end of it.

Sheska sniffled, he hoped because of the cold and not because he'd made her cry. "It's just such a . . . such a great distraction, you know? The stories they write, they're so . . . wrong. It's nice to think that in someone's mind, that's how it would work. That evil can be defeated by . . . by normal people."

Fuery was surprised to discover he hadn't released Sheska's elbows. "But that's true. You've proven that."

A smothered chuckle. ". . . I'm not exactly what most people would call 'normal.' And what I did was nothing, it was just . . ." She trailed off and shook her head.

He shrugged. "You're just one person, and you helped take down a corrupt government. Maybe that's not normal, but I'd say that's pretty heroic."

She looked away, embarrassed, and Fuery shrugged. "What about me? I'm pretty normal, and Heymans and I saved the day."

Because that was what tonight had been all about. She knew he was in the dumps. They all did. He couldn't hide it as well as Breda. Then again, Breda had Havoc; the blond had been fairly regular in his attempts to drag their red-headed comrade out for socialization.

But despite the laughing and joking, Kain knew Breda was troubled. And he knew, without speaking to the major, that he had the same fears Fuery himself did. After their initial semi-recovery from the damage Craege Irving's corpse had done to them, neither one of them was back to full strength, even though it had been over a year.

They never would be.

He never would be. And he had been the weakest link to start.

The colonel had made her expectations very clear, and he was able to meet them without too much effort. He served as the radio technician, coordinating communications between the sniper teams during drills. He was the school's liaison with the State military in matters related to potential deployments. He still had his contacts from his old job, Yates and Bently, who sent along anything interesting, particularly if they thought it was encrypted.

His responsibilities mostly involved sitting in a chair and listening. Every once in a while, he'd have to go on-site to set up equipment, and even in those rare instances he wasn't permitted to actually carry it. Then again, he couldn't be sure that was just him; Hawkeye made the students schlep the files for Sheska, too, and perform nearly all the manual labor related to setting up the hides and prepping the drills, on top of their heavy academic load. Havoc referred to it as child labor, even though most of the sniper students were nineteen years old or older.

Still, he felt like his work had been tailored to his . . . his weakness. How cold he still found their offices, even in summer. How his old uniforms were still a little too big. How he couldn't sprint up eight flights of stairs anymore, from the basement to the belfry of the Central City Cathedral for drills, even with nothing to carry.

Because the last thing he had carried, he and Breda had carried, had been Craege Irving's remains – not understanding just how toxic and dangerous they really were – to the parade grounds, where they couldn't harm anyone else.

He wasn't sure if Breda ever second-guessed their decision. He remembered coming up on the scene, seeing Full Metal captured when he knew Edward could move faster than that, knew he had to be exhausted or injured to have been caught like that, and when he saw Alex Louis Armstrong stumble – that mountain of a man trip over literally nothing - he knew Breda was right when the taller man had eyed that black mound of ash on the street. He'd known that Heymans was right, that somehow something about that rogue alchemist, even in death, was hurting their friends.

If he had known then what he knew now, would he have hesitated? Volunteered to stay with Edward – who had been covered in blood, it was nothing short of a miracle he hadn't died that day – rather than go with Breda on what would turn out to be the most dangerous mission of his life?

He liked to think that he still would have done what he did, which was gather up the remains in an old iron bucket, and carry them as far as possible from his friends. People who would have gotten as sick as he and Breda had gotten, if they hadn't done what they had done.

He liked to think that, even knowing what it would do to him, the pain, the nausea, the weakness, the pity that had forced his colleague to drag him to a book reading, he would still do the right thing.

Because it _had_ been the right thing. Many, many citizens would have been in that hospital wing with him and Heymans, and they weren't.

He was just a normal second lieutenant, and he and a normal major had saved the lives of countless citizens of Amestris, in the face of great evil. It wasn't salamander/lion/frog/rat chimera levels of evil, it was just the human variety, and it had been enough.

. . . but wouldn't it be creepy if someone was standing on a dark street corner with a girl in their arms, and she blinked sideways?

Kain blinked himself, not missing the irony, but Sheska didn't seem to notice. ". . . but you're not normal at all! No one else could have tapped all those radio and phone lines and picked out the clues that –"

"Yes they could have," he contradicted gently. "It's okay, Sheska. You're right. I am a little down. But . . . I'm not cold?" He shrugged, just to show that he hadn't even zipped his jacket, and Sheska stared at him for so long he started to feel self-conscious.

"I'm not all that special, but I was able to do a great thing. So were you. Maybe we can't all be Brigadier General Hughes or the Prime Minister, but just because we're normal humans doesn't mean we can't fight back. That novel . . . had-" What had she called it?" "-a lot of opportunities to be more accurate. But a normal person fighting evil, and making a dent, that seems perfectly plausible to me."

Sheska was still staring at him like she'd never seen anything like him before. ". . . can I use that? In my book?"

He thought about that a second. "What kind of book are we talking about?"

She ducked her head back into her jacket, and Fuery wondered if she was hiding a blush. Not like he could tell in the dark.

"I was thinking about – okay, not thinking about so much as doing – and it's harder than it sounds, because I've read so many books I can never be sure if I'm having an original idea or I'm just stealing someone else's, and that sounds silly but it's really important to me-"

"You're writing a book about . .?" he prompted.

She seemed to draw away, and for some inexplicable reason he still had hold of her elbows, and he refused to let her go.

Sheska was writing a book and didn't want to tell him –

Sheska was writing a _horror_ novel. Just like the other women in the book club were.

He grinned. "That's great! Do you . . . need any help?"

He wasn't sure why he said it. It wasn't like he'd ever wanted to write the great Amestrian novel. He certainly didn't know much about horror, except that he hadn't been impressed with what he'd heard that night. If he thought about it, he actually _did_ know a lot about horror, and so did she. The actual evil loose in the world. The actual toll it took on the normal human.

Like that milksop protagonist. That was garbage. The real protagonist would be like Heymans, or like Havoc, or like Hawkeye. Or like Winry Rockbell.

Yes. Like Winry Rockbell. Knitting scarves and building amazing automail to help the obvious protagonist, when in fact her contributions were crucial in the fight against evil.

Or staring at his face in the mirror, wishing a beard would grow where it never would again.

Or painstakingly organizing a file room, because you never knew when a salamander/lion/frog/rat chimera was going to pop up out of a storm drain and eat you, and someone else would have to find something in that storage room, some crucial piece of evidence that had killed the last investigator.

In fact, with a little embellishment, Sheska's own life was pretty good story material. The normal person, fired without understanding, and then her boss was ruthlessly murdered, and her quest for the truth brought her to the ultimate realization –

He'd read a book like that.

She was still looking at him, almost suspiciously, and he used his hands on her elbows to guide her into moving again. He may not have zipped his jacket, and she may have put his scarf around his neck, but that didn't mean he wasn't getting cold. The heater in the car was starting to sound better by the minute.

"I'd be glad to help. I can't think of an author I'd rather read than you. You'd do the story justice."

-x-

"Well, if they show, at least we can introduce them to donuts."

Edward's eyes cut to his brother without blinking, but Alphonse seemed completely immune, stuffing fully half the glazed concoction into his mouth.

"I hope you choke on that," Full Metal grumbled, and Franklin almost winced on his behalf.

Almost.

"What a terrible thing to say!" Madelyne Price snapped him on the back of the neck with the dishtowel – which Franklin knew from personal experience stung like a piro bite – and the elder Elric had the good grace to duck his head. He didn't, however, have the good grace to look contrite. Or apologize.

Madelyne didn't seem to expect one from him – he was a guest, technically – and continued to berate him as she returned to the counter. Franklin scrubbed his face, trying hard to ignore the clock over the sink.

Five am. They weren't going to come, at least not now. In a scant hour all of Central would be wide awake. It wouldn't be light for hours, and the cloud cover and accompanying drizzle would give the dawn a bit of a hassle, but there would be too much activity to take the risk.

"Is this your first catered ambush?"

"Wiff fwef ohuts? Eah," Alphonse attempted effusively, around the second half. Full Metal tried to glower at the plate but then he frowned and gave up.

Alphonse watched his brother closely, but he needn't have bothered. The headmaster's eyes practically rolled into the back of his head, and Franklin turned to catch Dolph with a rare, unguarded smile. The old man was standing over the fryer, but he had eyes only for the kitchen table, and Franklin had to admit, while literally _nothing_ about the night had gone as planned, it wasn't a total loss.

"So they taste about the same then?" Al prodded, and Ed ignored him entirely, savoring the second half. Honey glazed, so the most basic donut the Prices made, but clearly they were just as much a familiar comfort to the Elrics as they had been to so many others.

Although . . .

Sorn studied Alphonse again. "But you were a soul bound to the armor the first time you were in Liore, right?"

Al nodded, not taking his eyes off his older brother. "Yeah. The second time I was lucky enough to just stumble on them-"

"Hogwash," Dolph snapped from the stove. "Maddie flagged you down."

Franklin glanced at Madelyne, who was mixing the glaze. Since they'd gone to all the trouble to make a few donuts, they would make several dozen and leave them for the neighbors. His favorite was sour cream and blueberry, and there was enough dough – and glaze – already prepped that he was hopeful he was also going to luck out.

It was not something he would have predicted earlier in the night.

Alphonse plucked up another donut, eyeing it a moment, then bringing it to his nose and inhaling deeply. For a second, Franklin thought it was just a show for them, but then he realized the younger Elric was using the fragrance as a memory trigger, because his eyes opened and his entire face lit up.

"You're right, she did," he confirmed in an amazed tone. "I had just walked into the square, and I'd already been told that Rose would put me up for the night, so I was looking for her -" and then he pointed to Maddie – "and you were right there, outside the shop with a tray full of donuts, and you put one right into my hand."

Madelyne didn't respond, stirring the sugar and honey with rhythmic, practiced strokes, but Franklin was quite sure she'd heard him. She had – what did Dolph call it? – selective hearing.

Dolph snorted. "'Course she did. How many times did you buy a box and never try one?"

Alphonse's smile fell a little, and became more nostalgic. "I'd say I don't know how you recognized me, but I was dressed just like nii-san, and I looked enough like him –"

"A bright red coat," Madelyne confirmed, thrusting a finger into the glaze to test the consistency. "Like you wanted everyone's attention all the time, both of you."

Edward's hand had already snaked back to the platter. "I was kind of an attention hound back then."

"Back then?"

The headmaster didn't even bother to look at his brother. He just kept on eating.

"It's the eyes." Madelyne put another shake of powdered sugar into the glaze. "Yours are darker than his."

Franklin very carefully did not immediately confirm this. They both had extraordinarily light brown eyes, it was how the Cretian general had recognized Full Metal back on the border, but he'd never really compared them side by side. No need. Binding Life was clearly taller, and the beard made it very difficult to confuse the two of them.

But thinking of them traveling together brought up another question that had been rattling around his head. "How do you know so much about the Xingese?"

Edward totally ignored the question, and Franklin was willing to bet it wasn't just because of the donuts. Binding Life, on the other hand, leaned back in the chair and folded his arms. "Why do you ask?"

Besides the obvious, clearly. "I didn't find anything about Xing in your notes." Outside of what might – _might_ – have been a reference to a different kind of alchemy in the sections that discussed Scar the Ishbalan.

"We really need to talk about you deciphering our notes," Alphonse observed, but it was without heat. "That aside, the reason you didn't find anything is because we didn't write them down."

Considering what they _had_ written down, that was pretty telling. "It was that insignificant?" Or that memorable . . .

Edward somehow managed to look unpleasant despite picking up his third donut. "We figured it wasn't that important."

Alphonse gave his brother the side-eye. "We figured human transmutation was crime enough," he corrected, and Edward determinedly continued eating. After a few seconds, Binding Life sighed. "Short version – we snuck into Xing to find out more about the kind of alchemy they practiced. It's a little . . . different than what we do here. They said it used a different power source, but . . ." He trailed off and lowered his voice, which would be enough to stop Madelyne from eavesdropping but not Dolph. "With what we know about the Gate, I'm not entirely sure anymore."

Franklin just looked at him. "So . . . what did you steal, then, if you couldn't put it in your notes?"

Full Metal threw back his head and howled with laughter. Alphonse pointedly ignored him. "Let's just say getting a personal demonstration of how their alchemy worked required us to . . . break a few local customs, and go places an Amestrian wouldn't necessarily be invited."

"You broke into . . . the Xingese palace?" As soon as he heard his own words Franklin realized he was absolutely correct. Al, for his part, rubbed the back of his neck, and Edward unabashedly selected a fourth donut.

"Let's just say we're probably not welcome there."

So . . . they just gave up? If the Xingese practiced a different form of alchemy, how could that not apply, not only to making Philosopher's Stones, but also their current studies? "Even so, why stop pursuing knowledge about their alchemy?" There had to be other sources of information, some alchemist not associated with the palace that would have been interested in some kind of exchange -

"We didn't, exactly," Edward admitted, almost reluctantly. "It's more geared towards healing, which was very relevant to our interests at the time."

Even back then, they'd been working on getting Alphonse's body back, if they could have found a way without a Philosopher's Stone, they surely would have jumped at it. It wasn't like the tenacious Elrics to abandon research with such promise just because of a setback.

. . . so it wasn't just a setback.

"We're _really_ unwelcome," Al added unhelpfully, as he pushed his plate to the side. "And that's all we can really say about it."

Which was almost nothing. He nearly opened his mouth, to ask the next obvious question, _who did you kill?_ But Full Metal had not picked up another donut, and Alphonse's smile was long gone, and five am after a complete let-down of an ambush was not the time. He'd get no further with this line of questioning.

Franklin filed it away for future investigation, and pretended not to notice that blueberries were being folded into the remaining dough.

"It didn't seem like they recognized you at the Academy, at any rate," he said instead. Surely if the Elrics were so infamous . . .

His headmaster snorted. "They got a good look, too," he grumbled. "I'm actually a little surprised."

"Well, it was pretty dark . . ." Edward didn't immediately respond, and Alphonse's scrutiny increased. "Because it was nighttime-"

"It was," Ed agreed vaguely. "But trust me, they got a good look."

"Nii-san-"

Edward held up his hands. "It wasn't like I knew the Xingese Royal Guard were going to be out there, Al-"

"And you're _sure_ it was the Royal Guard?"

Full Metal dropped his hands to his pockets, patting down both before withdrawing a triangular piece of metal. There on the kitchen table, it was very clearly a pointed, two-edged blade with a very short tang, through which a small hole had been bored. Just small enough for a finger.

The mechanism for carrying them, then, or perhaps throwing. Or perhaps both.

"He told me to stand aside or die, and then chucked a handful of these," Full Metal said slowly. "But threat aside, he was aiming to injure, not kill. I was an annoying bystander, as far as he was concerned. I can't prove it with just this, I know. But if it was one of the clans, then they made unmarked weapons just for this occasion, and they were awfully fluent in Amestrian. I never heard a word in Xingese, they even spoke Amestrian to each other."

Something Full Metal said clicked, and Franklin snapped his fingers. " . . . that's right. You were just a bystander." Both the Elrics stared at him, and Sorn waited a beat for them to catch on. They didn't. "You were dressed in civilian clothes, not like a professor. No pocketwatch, no armor, no . . . Full Metal. You were just a blond alchemist that intervened right outside an alchemy school."

Even if they had been on the lookout for Full Metal, they wouldn't have thought for a second that the casually dressed man was anything other than a student. If they were foreign, and so many years had gone by since the Elrics' apparently unforgivable visit, it was no wonder they hadn't immediately recognized him.

They hadn't _immediately_ recognized him.

Full Metal's eyes narrowed as he also made the leap. "At least I was at the time. Now that they've had a chance to sit and think about it-"

Al nodded slowly. "They realized who you could have been, and backed off to regroup. That's why they didn't come for Franklin tonight."

A quiet snort came from the stove, and Alphonse grinned despite himself. "It's only a temporary reprieve," he called, inviting both the Prices back into the conversation. "Just because they didn't attack tonight doesn't mean they don't still intend to. Your names and faces were featured prominently in the trial coverage. It's only a matter of time before they figure out where you live." His voice had grown solemn. "You're not safe here."

Dolph had not turned from the stove, and he studied the frying donuts there gravely for a moment. It was Madelyne, however, who spoke.

"Let them come. These men won't get nothing from us but a rolling pin to the skull." She patted the one beside her, as if reassuring herself it was still in easy reach.

Dolph never looked up from the donuts, but he nodded in agreement. "We've not run from any threat. Not in Liore, not in Ishbal. We're too old to start running now."

Neither Alphonse nor Edward looked surprised. They'd been hearing the same song and dance all night, from the moment they all stormed in to find the Prices calmly setting the dinner table. And Franklin knew it would literally require force to remove Madelyne Price from her home. This home, the one she had drawn as a child, that she had dreamt of all her life. That she had taken out and stared at so often that the image was burned into his brain just as clearly, even years after he had left the Prices behind.

Full Metal finally seemed to be getting that, because he dropped his chin slightly, and Franklin was suddenly uneasy under his sharp eyes. "They won't stop coming for him." His tone was so sure, and so final, that Dolph turned and studied the back of his head. Madelyne just wiped her hands on her apron, scowling at the glaze.

"What do they want with him? What do they want with our boy?"

Full Metal didn't so much as blink. "It's just a hunch, but I expect they want him to make them a Philosopher's Stone."

The kitchen fell quiet, only the popping of the frying donuts disturbed the silence. Franklin knew that his guardians had their suspicions about the cost of such a thing, but he was quite sure they didn't realize the magnitude of Full Metal's statement. They wanted him to make them a Stone? "Why?"

"The emperor is unwell." Binding Life's tone was just as serious. "Their alchemy is geared towards healing, so they've been sustaining his life, but that's all they can do. Even when we were kids, they were looking for other means to save him. The clan that's able to extend his life will be favored above all the others, maybe even rule after he dies. Clearly the news about the Irvings, and your trial, has made it back to Xing."

His mind turned that over, and in a strictly abstract sense, it added up. A major alchemic show-down in the capital, and then a very short war with Creta would be big enough news to make it across the desert between Amestris and Xing. Two stories in less than a year insinuating Amestris had, if not an actual Stone, some type of major alchemic amplifier. Still, he'd been charged with attempted human transmutation, which didn't necessarily translate into an attempt to make a Stone. If the Xingese knew that Philospher's Stones were made from the lives of humans, there'd be no reason to be interested in him. They could just make one themselves.

Of course, they'd need the array, but clearly the Elrics had to have gotten theirs from somewhere, and there was no reason to think the Xingese couldn't also track a copy down. Certainly not if they had been at it for over a decade, and were willing to invade Amestris' capital city to get their hands on one alchemist.

Frankly, they should have been after Full Metal or Binding Life before anyone even _thought_ about him.

"But why me?"

Alphonse leaned forward, folding his hands on the table. "You're Avram Blane's apprentice," he said simply. "He made no bones about claiming he was being framed, and that people were accusing him of seeking or possessing a Philosopher's Stone. The papers stated that his defense was a lie, but you have to understand, the clans are desperate. This is life or death for them. Even if they don't think you can transmute one yourself, they'll take any clue they can get."

Full Metal sighed, then finally released his eyes, and Franklin found he was almost relieved as the older alchemist climbed to his feet. "Trust me when I tell you they won't stop coming, and they will do whatever it takes to ensure the success of their mission." He turned almost reluctantly, and in profile Sorn watched his eyebrows lift as he softened his voice. "I know you don't want to leave, but Al's right. It's not safe here. We'll help you gather your things and get you settled into a safehouse. All of you," he added over his shoulder.

Madelyne continued scowling, but it was her listening scowl, the one she wore when she was chewing on a problem rather than simply denying or ignoring it. Dolph voiced her thoughts. "Sure, running and hiding seems like a good idea until you realize there's something after. If these folks won't stop until they have our Frankie, what good's packing up shop really gonna do?"

Alphonse opened his mouth, but he didn't have a ready answer, and eventually Edward spoke for him. "I can't prove that there really were Xingese in Central. This by itself is not enough." He held up the throwing knife. "But I do know someone who can bring enough political pressure to bear to discourage them from being quite so blatant about it. If nothing else, it buys us time."

His brother seemed taken aback. "Parliament won't issue an official rebuke, not on so little evidence, even if Mustang agrees with you –"

Full Metal inclined his head. "I know. But there's a cherished gift from Xing that's in need of some repairs, and I hear the weather's nice there this time of year."

-x-

 **Author's Notes** : Yeah, sorry, I promised explosions and you got donuts. But, _donuts_. I mean, c'mon.

 _(OkayseriouslyIreallywantadonutnow.)_

It's been literally nine years since I've done a thing with any of these characters, and I found myself having to go back and re-read sections of PAA to remember what the heck these characters were thinking. I've seen from the reviews that many of you have had to do the same, which makes me so very happy!

There are so many stories, books, and novels I read repeatedly, sometimes even annually, because of the mindset and emotional state they can just magically transport me to, or because the story itself is just _so good._ I'd like to believe that maybe just a few of you feel that way about PAA, as opposed to going back and thinking "WTF was that stupid plot point? Oh, right, the door was _red_ , I get it now!"


End file.
